THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


10 


A  WALL  OF  MEN 


We  go  to  rear  a  wall  of  men 
On  Freedom's  Southern  line, 

And  plant  beside  the  cotton-tree 
The  rugged  Northern  pine. 

— John  Greenleaf  Whittler. 


The  world,  their  world,  because  they  were  young  and  made 
worlds  easily,  had  no  flaws  in 

the  making  [Page  81 


A  WALL  OF  MEN 


BY 

MARGARET  HILL  McCARTER 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  PRICE  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 

THE  PEACE  OF  THE  SOLOMON  VALLEY 

ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
By  J.  N.  MARCHAND 

SECOND   EDITION 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1912 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1912 


Published  October,  1912 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


W.  P.  HALL  PRINT! HO  COMPANY,  CHICAGO 


?s 


To  the  memory  of  those  brave  Empire  Builders,  who, 
half  a  hundred  years  ago,  founded  a  kingdom  on 
Liberty,  Loyalty,  and  Love,  and  defended  it  with  the 
strength  of  brain  and  brawn  and  heart,  this  story  of 
a  day  of  peril  and  power  is  offered  here. 


For  the  accuracy  of  the  data  which  supplies  the  historical 
background  to  this  romance  grateful  recognition  is  here  given  to 
William  Elsey  Connelley,  historian,  essayist,  editor,  whose  gen 
erous  assistance  has  been  invaluable  to  the  author. 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

THE  DREAM 
Chapter  Page 

I    Beside  the  Old  Trail 3 

II    The  Hole  in  the  Rock 14 

III  "Darrarat"        25 

IV  In  the   Evening  Time 39 

V    Another  Day  That  Was  Different 51 

VI    Pilgrim    Sons       64 

VII    A  Prophecy 77 

VIII    The  End  of  Dreams 94 

PART  2 

THE  SACRIFICE 

IX    War  on  the  Wakarusa 117 

X    The   Unprotected 136 

XI    A  Warlike  Peace 156 

XII    The   Storm       . 167 

XIII  The  Peace  Party 180 

XIV  Winter  Weather 195 

XV    Jupe's    Bondage       212 

XVI    Fireside   Foes -    .  228 

XVII    Spring  Weather      248 

XVIII    Prairie  Pirates 267 

XIX    The  Reign  of  Terror 286 

XX    "Letting  in   the   Jungle" 305 


CONTENTS 
PART  3 

THE  VICTORY 
Chapter  Page 

XXI    A  Moral  Agency 327 

XXII    The  Enduring  Promise 349 

XXIII  Broken   Bonds 366 

XXIV  Whose  Soul  Goes  Marching  On 386 

XXV    The  Dawn  of  Doom 409 

XXVI    'Tiger!  Tiger!" 426 

XXVII    The  Miracle  of  Song 449 

XXVIII    From  Marah  to  Horeb 465 

XXIX    The  Locket  and  the  Chain                                   ,  485 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

The  world,  their  world,  because  they  were  young 
and  made  worlds  easily,  had  no  flaws  in  the 
making.  .......  Frontispiece 

"Don't  fight  till  thee  must,  David"  ...  20 
"  Boniface  Penwin,  you  are  an  infamous  liar"  .  252 
Shooting  them  without  quarter 430 


A  WALL  OF  MEN 

PART  ONE 

THE  DREAM 

A  hush  comes  over  the  story;  a  swaying  back  and  forth, 
Before  the  clinch  for  the  combat  between  the   South  and 

the  North; 

But  in  the    lull  and   luridness  of   a   daylight  nearly   done 
John   Brown   has   strapped    his    knapsack   and    taken    his 

Kansas  gun. 

— Samuel  W.  Duffield. 


A    WALL    OF    MEN 


CHAPTER    I 
BESIDE    THE    OLD    TRAIL 

The  rudiments  of  empire  here 

Are  plastic  yet  and  warm; 
The  chaos  of  a  mighty  world 

Is  rounding  into  form! 

— John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

THE  late  summer  rains  had  not  been  scant,  and  the 
Vinland  Valley  was  brilliantly  green  that  Octo 
ber.  The  Wakarusa  winding  down  to  meet  the  Kaw  was 
bordered  either  side  by  grassy  stretches  of  virgin 
prairie  over  which  the  warm  autumn  breezes  swept 
steadily,  gently,  ceaselessly.  Great  waves  of  verdure, 
dark  in  the  dip,  yellow  green  on  the  crest,  kept  time  to  the 
rhythm  of  the  wind.  Away  to  the  northward  the  bluffs 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  Kaw  River  were  only  a  gray 
shadow  upon  the  sky-line.  Nearer,  in  the  northwest, 
with  golden  crest  uplifted  above  green  draperies  round 
about  it,  rose  strong  and  clear  that  sentinel  headland  of 
the  Kaw  Valley  christened  Mount  Oread.  To  the  south, 
a  wooded  height  marks  the  bold  beginning  of  the  swell 
that  separates  two  Kansas  river  systems.  Down  its 
steep  sides  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  zigzagged  through  pic 
turesque  ways,  shut  in  here  and  there  by  sharp-cut  stone 
ledges,  and  overhung  by  vine-draped  trees.  A  cool,  hid- 

3 


4  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

den  bit  of  wildwood  roadway  it  was  in  the  summer 
time;  a  snug,  sheltered  length  of  trail  when  the  biting 
winds  gnawed  at  the  open  prairies  and  the  frenzied 
winter's  snows  surged  up  the  shallow  draws,  or  piled 
their  huge  heaps  in  aimless  pattern  on  a  helpless 
land. 

From  the  foot  of  this  bluff  the  path  of  the  Trail  sloped 
evenly  away  to  a  deep  ravine,  cutting  an  irregular  line 
across  the  plains  from  the  southwest.  Beyond  the  ravine 
it  crossed  a  rough,  billowy  belt  of  ground  and  came 
again  to  a  gently  undulating  prairie. 

To  the  eastward,  on  the  crest  of  this  swell,  the  Trail 
ran  through  a  stretch  of  woodland,  weaving  to  left  or 
right  where  the  young  saplings  bunched  together  or  a 
dark  thicket  of  evergreens  stood  up  against  easy  road 
making. 

Along  this  historic  old  highway  in  the  middle  '50*8  came 
the  westward-facing  people,  with  purposes  as  varied  as 
the  varied  speech  and  manner  of  the  men  who  held  them : 
the  frontier  border  raider;  the  New  England  emigrant, 
Pilgrim  Father  of  the  plains;  the  Southern  gentleman, 
loyal  to  the  empire-extending  spirit;  the  refugee  Negro, 
sometimes  close  upon  his  heels ;  the  half-civilized  Indian 
from  Michigan;  the  staunch-headed  Quaker  from  In 
diana;  the  adventurer,  the  State-builder,  the  outlaw, 
the  missionary,  the  dreamer  of  a  day  of  better  things  — 
the  footprint  of  each  was,  from  time  to  time,  in  the  dust 
of  this  Trail.  Each  had  crossed  the  border  line  between 
the  old  Missouri  State  and  the  young  Kansas  Territory, 
and,  moving  westward  over  the  rolling  green  and  bil 
lows,  had  come  to  this  wooded  crest.  Along  its  thicket- 
guarded  aisle  they  had  followed  the  Trail  in  its  winding 
course  to  the  height  above  the  Vinland  Valley.  Down 
by  picturesque  ledges  they  had  threaded  their  way  to  the 


BESIDE    THE    OLD    TRAIL  5 

open  again,  and  wandered  off  to  the  wide  lands  stretch 
ing  away  with  faint  shadings  westward  somewhere. 

What  this  Wakarusa  region  held  for  those  who  trav 
eled  the  Trail  in  that  fateful  decade,  their  controlling 
purpose  in  coming  to  it  helped  mightily  to  determine. 
Just  now  there  were  no  black  shadows  of  tragedy  on 
the  heliotrope  heavens,  no  moan  of  sorrow  in  the  gently 
pulsing  breeze,  no  quiver  of  pain  in  the  rippling  grasses. 
A  land  of  peace  and  promise,  it  lay  under  sweet  Octo 
ber  skies,  awaiting  the  hand  of  Empire  to  shape  its  story. 

The  sun  of  an  autumn  day  was  moving  toward  the 
late  afternoon,  filling  the  west  with  a  mellow  radiance 
and  touching  to  burnished  glass  the  quiet  pools  of  the 
Wakarusa.  Just  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  overlooking 
the  Vinland  Valley  a  boy  and  a  girl  sat  on  a  log  beside 
the  Trail  gazing  out  toward  the  north.  Beyond  them, 
where  the  shadows  were  deeper,  another  boy  sprawled 
on  the  pine  needles  beside  a  clump  of  evergreens.  There 
was  a  summer  languor  in  the  air,  and  the  three  young 
people  resting  idly  on  the  shaded  height  seemed  an  un 
conscious  part  of  the  landscape's  stillness  and  dreamy 
beauty. 

"  Look  yonder,  Beth.  I  wonder  if  that  could  be  David 
Lamond  and  Boniface  Penwin,  and  thy  father,  Elliot?" 

It  was  the  boy  on  the  log  who  spoke.  Something  of 
gentle  proprietorship  was  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned  to 
the  girl.  He  had  the  accent  and  slight  drawl  of  the 
Southern  tongue,  and  there  was  the  merest  shade  of 
ridicule  in  the  tone  of  the  words  "thy  father."  Elliot, 
the  young  fellow  on  the  ground,  gave  no  sign  of  having 
felt  the  thrust. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  must  be  the  rude  forefathers  of 
Kansas  coming  down  toward  the  crossing.  See,  Beth, 
the  two  riding  abreast,  one  on  a  white  horse  and  the 


6  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

other  on  a  black  one.  Look,  they  '11  soon  be  out  of  sight 
in  that  bumpy  prairie  beyond  the  ravine  by  the  '  Hole 
in  the  Rock.'  The  third  rider,  away  behind  on  a  red 
roan,  is  coming  like  a  wild  Indian  to  overtake  the  other 
two.  The  black  horse  must  be  David  Lamond's;  the 
white  palfrey  looks  like  my  own  dear  dad's ;  the  red  roan, 
Craig,  ought  to  be  Colonel  Penwin's.  He  must  have 
gotten  separated  from  the  others  somehow.  They  don't 
seem  to  know  he  is  behind  them." 

"  You  've  got  mighty  good  eyes  for  a  Quaker,  Elliot," 
Craig  replied.  "  I  don't  see  anything  like  red  or  black  or 
white,  and  my  father  rode  the  bay  colt  anyhow.  But  I 
know  they  are  horsemen  coming  yonder,  and  since  it  is 
about  time  for  the  parents  of  these  babes  in  the  woods  to 
be  getting  home  from  Lawrence,  I  just  guessed  that 
was  who  these  three  might  be.  They  may  be  the  '  Three 
Wise  Men  of  Gotham,'  or  'Old  King  Cole's  Fiddlers 
Three,'  or  any  other  noted  trio,  as  well  as  the  fathers  of 
us  three  here.  We  can't  be  sure  till  they  get  this  side 
of  the  ravine." 

"I  hope  father  will  get  home  to-night,"  Beth  said, 
shading  her  eyes  and  studying  the  view.  "  Mother  is  so 
uneasy  when  he  is  away.  By  the  way,"  turning  toward 
the  trees  behind  them,  "the  woods  are  so  still,  I  won 
der  where  Lucy  and  the  boys  are.  I  haven't  heard  a 
sound  for  half  an  hour." 

"  Busy  getting  nuts,  or  up  to  some  mischief,  I  suppose. 
They  are  not  likely  to  get  lost  with  that  big  brother  of 
mine  looking  after  them.  Are  you  afraid,  too,  when  your 
father  is  away?" 

A  deepening  tone  came  suddenly  into  Elliot's  voice 
as  he  asked  the  question,  and  his  eyes  looked  steadily 
into  hers. 

"  Not  very  often,"  Beth  answered,  frankly.     "  Mother 


BESIDE    THE    OLD    TRAIL  7 

says  I  am  like  father,  I  never  get  scared  at  the  right 
time." 

They  were  standing  now  looking  out  across  the  land 
scape  to  where,  far  down  the  broad,  dust-white  trail, 
tvyo  horsemen  were  riding  slowly  through  the  late  after 
noon  haze.  Far  behind  them  a  third  horseman  was  cov 
ering  the  ground  more  rapidly,  as  if  eager  to  overtake 
them. 

Youth  has  ever  a  charm  of  its  own,  but  to  these  three 
young  people,  just  verging  into  manhood  and  woman 
hood,  Nature  had  been  kind  indeed.  The  older  of  the 
two  boys,  Craig  Penwin,  he  of  the  Southern  tongue, 
although  dressed  in  the  plain  clothes  of  the  Westerner 
in  frontier  days,  had  a  certain  grace  of  manner  that 
declared  the  fine  blood  of  the  South.  He  was  tall  and 
slender,  with  quick,  easy  motion,  more  suggestive  of  skill 
than  of  strength  and  endurance  when  the  fulness  of  man 
hood  should  come.  His  eyes  were  blue,  deep,  summer- 
sky  blue,  save  when  a  steely  glitter  gave  warning  that 
their  owner  might  be  just,  but  never  merciful,  never 
forgiving.  He  did  not  smile  quite  often  enough,  and  a 
little  film  of  reserve  warded  off  familiarity. 

The  other  boy,  Elliot  Darrow,  younger,  less  assertive, 
maybe,  had  nevertheless  a  wholesome  sturdiness  of 
physique  and  a  pleasing  frankness  of  manner.  His  eyes 
were  very  dark,  with  an  Indian's  keenness  of  vision  that 
could  distinguish  between  black  and  roan  when  his  com 
panion  saw  only  one  color.  His  chin  was  square-cut,  his 
mouth  was  firm,  his  cast  of  features,  although  boyish 
now,  gave  promise  of  a  manly  beauty  that  even  old  age 
cannot  obliterate.  Above  everything  else  was  his  smile 
engaging.  Then  his  face  lost  the  little  hint  of  sternness 
it  held.  Nobody  ever  doubted  Elliot  Darrow  who  saw 
him  smile. 


8  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Between  the  two  was  the  girl,  Beth  Lamond,  with 
whom  the  Quaker  and  the  young  Southerner  had  known 
the  good  fellowship  of  companions.  With  all  three,  life 
was  yet  to  be  met,  and  to  them  endless  adventures 
and  new  conditions  called  daily.  No  voice  came  out 
of  the  still  beauty  of  this  October  afternoon  to  whisper 
to  each  that  good  fellowship  cannot  stay,  nor  to  tell 
why  some  quicker  pulse  beat  brought  a  new  thrill  to 
mark  the  day  long  afterward  in  memory. 

Through  the  wind-swayed  boughs  the  sunlight  sifted 
down  on  the  girl's  fair  hair,  touching  with  gold  all  its 
soft,  careless  waves.  The  face  beneath  this  golden  glory, 
with  its  curves  of  youth  and  bloom  of  health,  was  one 
to  make  even  a  passing  stranger  turn  to  study.  It  held 
something  more  than  a  fine  cast  of  features :  dimples  to 
fit  the  ready  smile,  and  eyes  that  sparkled  with  fun. 

"  Beth  Lamond  is  pretty  enough  for  any  kind  of  a  pet 
name,  as  a  sweet  Scotch  lassie  now,"  Colonel  Boniface 
Penwin,  who  had  an  eye  for  pretty  faces,  had  declared, 
"but  she  will  be  the  handsomest  woman  west  of  the 
Missouri  River  by  and  by ;  and  then,  by  George,  they  '11 
call  her  only  Elizabeth  Lamond,  the  beauty  of  Kansas." 

"If  they  don't  call  her  Elizabeth  Penwin,"  Craig's 
little  brother  Tarleton  had  put  in,  a  remark  at  which 
his  father  laughed  uproariously. 

But  Craig,  kicking  viciously  at  his  brother's  shins,  had 
said  in  disgust,  "  You  're  the  biggest  idiot  for  your  age, 
Tarley,  that  ever  came  out  of  Georgia." 

"Yep,  Craig,  I  was  lucky  to  get  away  when  I  did. 
Lots  of  idiots  still  down  South,"  Tarleton  had  snapped 
back  with  a  mischievous  grin. 

Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  was  no  mean  judge  of  David 
Lamond's  daughter.  Her  dark-gray  eyes,  toning  neither 
to  blue  nor  brown,  with  long,  black  lashes  and  well- 


BESIDE    THE    OLD    TRAIL  9 

marked,  black  brows,  gave  its  striking  feature  to  her  fair 
face,  beneath  the  abundant  sunshiny  hair.  And  in  these 
eyes,  and  about  the  firm,  red  lips,  keener  judges  than 
Colonel  Penwin  might  have  read  the  promise  of  womanly 
charm  and  sturdy  Scotch  strength  of  character. 

Her  dress  on  this  day  was  of  dark  blue  and  silvery 
gray  plaid,  with  a  white  thread  checking  through  the 
pattern  —  the  colors  her  father  loved  to  have  her  wear. 
They  were  the  very  plaid  of  the  old  Clan  Lamond,  sacred 
reminders  to  the  sturdy  Kansas  pioneer  of  family  tradi 
tions  and  a  boyhood  back  in  old  Scotland. 

The  eyes  of  the  three  were  on  the  figures  passing  down 
the  Trail  toward  the  wooded  ravine  where  the  creek  cuts 
a  deep  channel  through  the  stony  stratum.  Below  the 
Trail  crossing  in  this  ravine  was  a  dark  pool,  hollowed 
in  the  softer  under  layers  of  rock  by  the  friction  of  the 
passing  stream  through  cycles  of  slow-wearing  years.  On 
account  of  its  peculiar  formation  and  inky  waters  and 
uncertain  depth,  it  had  become  a  landmark  on  the  Santa 
Fe  Trail  known  as  the  "  Hole  in  the  Rock." 

The  two  horsemen  were  lost  to  view  now  in  what 
Elliot  called  the  "bumpy  prairie,"  beyond  the  ravine. 
Just  as  the  third  rider  passed  out  of  sight  in  the  broken 
land,  he  suddenly  spurred  off  to  the  south  —  leaving  the 
Trail  and  concealing  his  way  in  the  rough,  billowy  places 
until  he  dropped  into  the  shadows  of  the  wooded  hollow. 
The  young  people  waited  long,  watching  the  Trail,  uncon 
scious  of  the  passing  minutes,  until  a  shout  in  the  woods 
behind  them  announced  the  approach  of  a  quartette  of 
youngsters.  Joe  Darrow  and  Tarley  Penwin,  barefoot 
boys  of  ten  years,  swinging  a  long  piece  of  wild  grape 
vine  between  them,  came  racing  down  the  Trail  together. 
Close  behind  them  was  Lucy  Penwin,  a  winsome,  round- 
cheeked  girl  of  thirteen.  Last  of  all  came  Mark  Darrow, 


10  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

with  an  empty  bag  about  his  shoulders;  a  lusty  boy  of 
fourteen,  with  a  man's  voice  and  a  reckless,  happy-go- 
lucky  manner. 

"  The  nuts  we  did  n't  get,"  he  declared,  rolling  up  the 
bag  and  aiming  it  at  his  brother  Elliot's  head.  "  I  wish 
now  I'd  gone  fishing.  I  don't  want  to  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  these  woods.  I  heard  the  queerest  noise 
down  the  Trail  as  we  were  coming  up  here." 

"  Well,  it  is  time  you  young  papooses  were  getting  here 
anyhow,"  Craig  said. 

"And  there  is  wood  to  cut  and  chores  to  do  when 
you  get  home,  Mark.  You  are  not  through  with  your 
day's  work  yet,"  Elliot  declared. 

"  Not  through ! "  Mark  exclaimed,  with  a  solemn  face. 
"  Well  I  guess  not ;  but  I  wonder  what  that  noise  could 
have  been.  I  wish  now  I  'd  never  come  to  Kansas.  My 
troubles  are  only  beginning." 

The  laugh  that  followed  was  checked  midway  by  a 
voice  beyond  them,  saying: 

"You  are  right,  my  boy.  You  are  right,  your 
troubles  are  only  beginning." 

A  man  on  horseback  had  ridden  from  behind  the  ever 
green  clump  and  was  standing  in  the  dusty  way.  His 
clothing  was  coarse  and  his  face  unshaven.  Such  a 
stranger  was  no  uncommon  sight  here  six  decades  ago. 
But  the  man's  sudden  appearance,  his  strong  voice  and 
piercing  eyes,  held  the  group  speechless. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  scare  you,"  the  stranger  said.  "  Do 
you  live  about  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  Craig  replied. 

The  man  looked  at  the  group,  and  then  said: 

"You  do  not  all  belong  to  the  same  family.  How 
long  have  your  fathers  been  in  the  Territory?" 

"We  all  came  here  last  spring,"  Craig  said.     "There 


BESIDE    THE    OLD    TRAIL  11 

are  three  families  of  us.  Our  fathers  took  up  land  about 
these  woods.  We've  been  out  hunting  for  nuts  and 
paw-paws,  and  waiting  for  our " 

He  did  not  go  on.  In  frontier  days  children  learned 
early  not  to  talk  too  much  with  strangers,  and  Craig 
was  courteous  by  training  but  cautious  by  instinct. 

The  man  nodded  approvingly. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  David  Lamond  or 
Hiram  Darrow?"  he  questioned. 

"I  think  they  are  down  the  Trail  now,  coming  from 
Lawrence,"  Elliot  answered,  pointing  to  the  ravine  hiding 
the  open  way.  "  There  are  some  men  down  in  the  woods 
by  the  creek." 

"  How  shall  I  know  them  ?  The  ravine  may  have  other 
men  in  it  and  I  am  a  stranger  here." 

"There  are  three  of  them  together:  Colonel  Penwin 
and  the  two  you  ask  for.  We  have  been  up  here  watch 
ing  the  .Trail  for  an  hour,  and  nobody  else  has  been  in 
sight  down  there,"  Elliot  explained. 

"Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  of  Georgia?"  The  stran 
ger's  lips  stiffened  as  he  spoke. 

"Yes,  sir,  my  father,"  Craig  replied,  quickly,  his  own 
lips  tightening  also  about  his  white  teeth. 

"I  have  no  business  with  him  —  just  yet,"  the  man 
answered  in  an  even  tone.  "  I  should  not  want  to  mis 
take  him  for  either  one  of  the  others." 

"  David  Lamond  is  riding  a  big,  black  horse,  and  my 
father,  Hiram  Darrow,  is  on  a  white  one.  Colonel  Pen- 
win  has  a  bay  colt.  You  can't  miss  them,"  Elliot  said. 

The  stranger  smiled. 

"It  used  to  be  said  that  a  white  horse  means  peace, 
and  a  black  one,  power.  If  you  had  a  red  roan  now  it 
would  mean  bloodshed.  I  shall  know  the  men,  I  think." 

All  this  time  Mark  Darrow  had  not  taken  his  eyes 


12  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

from  the  stranger's  face.  As  he  lifted  his  bridle  rein 
to  go,  Mark  asked,  with  boyish  bluntness: 

"  What  made  you  say  our  troubles  are  only  beginning  ? 
We  are  just  a  lot  of  boys  and  girls." 

The  stranger  looked  out  across  the  landscape,  a-dream 
in  a  filmy  haze  that  softened  every  sharp  color  and 
rounded  every  angle.  In  his  eyes  was  the  prophet's 
vision  which  no  other  man  might  see. 

"  You  are  young  —  from  ten  to  sixteen  or  seventeen  at 
most,  shall  I  say?"  looking  from  the  least  to  the  tallest 
there,  "  given  ten  years  and  then  count  your  dark  days, 
and  remember  what  I  have  said  to  you." 

Only  one  pair  of  eyes  looked  steadily  into  the  eyes 
of  the  speaker  —  Mark  Darrow  —  fourteen  years  old,  with 
a  man's  voice  and  a  daring  speech. 

The  stranger  took  up  his  reins  again,  and  with  no 
further  word  passed  on  his  way  down  the  winding  Trail 
and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  I  hope  that 's  the  last  of  him,"  Craig  declared,  when 
the  man  was  out  of  hearing.  "Talk  about  trouble  —  it 
will  come  by  the  bucketful  wherever  he  is.  He 's  a 
trouble-maker,  I  know." 

"  I  wish  I  'd  asked  him  his  name,"  Mark  said.  "  I  liked 
him.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  did." 

"Well,  let  him  go  now.  What  was  it  that  scared 
you  down  in  the  woods,  Mark?"  Elliot  asked. 

"Didn't  anything  scare  me,"  Mark  declared,  stoutly, 
"  but  right  where  the  rocks  hang  over  the  Trail  I  heard 
the  queerest  noise.  A  kind  of  a  groan,  and  something 
went  '  sth.'  I  did  n't  wait  to  hear  any  more." 

"Was  that  what  made  you  come  up  the  hill  so  fast 
behind  us?"  queried  Lucy. 

"  Oh,  Mark,  did  you  really  hear  anything?  "  Joe  shiv 
ered  with  fear. 


BESIDE    THE    OLD    TRAIL  13 

"No,  he  didn't,  Joe.  He  just  thought  he  did,"  Beth 
said,  soothingly. 

"  I  know  I  did.  Just  like  somebody  was  there."  The 
boy  turned  defiantly  before  the  company. 

Unconsciously  they  were  in  family  groups.  -Craig  and 
Lucy  Penwin  stood  side  by  side,  with  Tarleton  clutching 
his  big  brother's  coat  sleeve.  Joe  Darrow  had  crowded 
up  against  Elliot.  In  front  and  between  the  two  groups 
stood  Beth.  Joe  and  Tarley  still  held  their  grapevine 
trailing  on  the  ground  behind  all  of  them. 

Mark  never  forgot  that  picture.  One  day  long  after 
ward,  it  came  back  to  him  with  wonderful  vividness. 
The  laughing  eyes  and  teasing  words,  the  pretty  girlish 
face  of  Lucy  Penwin,  and  Beth  with  her  golden  hair, 
Joe  and  Tarley  joined  by  the  grapevine  tie,  and  Craig 
and  Elliot  on  either  side  of  the  girl  who  was  to  be 
more  and  more  in  their  thoughts  in  the  coming  years 
—  the  ten  years  of  trouble  of  which  the  stranger  had 
warned  them. 

The  place  grew  suddenly  lonely.  The  sun  was  low  in 
the  west  now,  and  the  wooded  path  was  full  of  shadows. 
The  children  did  not  care  to  wait  for  the  horsemen  in 
the  ravine  to  appear  again  on  the  Trail.  After  all,  they 
were  not  sure  who  these  men  might  be,  and  with  all 
their  joking,  what  Mark  had  told  them  made  the  woods 
seem  different. 

They  had  left  the  edge  of  the  height  and  were  in  the 
heavier  timber  on  their  homeward  way,  when  a  cry  —  a 
long,  sharp  cry  of  fear  —  cut  the  stillness  of  the  plains. 
It  came  from  the  ravine  near  the  Hole  in  the  Rock. 
Up  on  the  wooded  places  it  sounded  only  faintly  to  the 
ears  of  the  young  people,  and  they  had  no  definite  notion 
of  the  direction  whence  it  came.  So  they  only  hurried 
on  their  way. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  HOLE  IN  THE  ROCK 

I  hate  the  dreadful  hollow  behind  the  little  wood, 
Its  lips  in  the  field  below  are  dabbled  with  blood-red  heath; 

The  red-ribbed  ledges  drip  with  a  silent  horror  of  blood, 
And  Echo  there,  whatever  is  asked  her,  answers,  "  Death. " 

—  Tennyson. 

THE  ravine  seemed  only  a  little  crack  across  the 
landscape.  Low  timber-tops  marked  its  way,  green 
in  the  summer,  black  in  the  winter,  from  an  insignificant 
beginning  in  the  southwest  to  where  it  falls  into  the 
wooded  bottoms  of  the  Wakarusa.  The  Trail  narrowed 
at  the  crossing,  slipping  down  suddenly  from  the  open 
slope  to  the  shaded  hollow,  and  up  again  by  a  short  climb 
to  the  rougher-rolling  prairie  on  the  west.  Save  in  spots, 
the  stream  was  small  and  shallow,  but  the  whole  length 
of  the  ravine  was  full  of  rocky  places,  darkened  path 
ways  and  uncertain  pools.  Among  these,  the  "  Hole  in 
the  Rock,"  an  ugly,  black,  still  thing,  lay  so  darkly 
shadowed,  it  might  almost  have  escaped  the  eye  of  a 
stranger.  Once  seen,  however,  it  was  not  easily  forgot 
ten.  It  was  full  thirty  feet  deep,  and  cruelly  smooth, 
reminding  one  of  nothing  else  so  much  as  the  lidless  eye 
of  a  motionless  snake  watching  its  victim. 

Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  sat  on  a  red  roan  horse  beside 
the  Trail  crossing,  looking  steadily  at  the  waters  beyond. 
They  seemed  to  be  rocking  slowly  as  from  some  disturb 
ance.  A  bubble  whitened  on  the  surface  and  vanished. 
Then  more  bubbles  came  from  somewhere  deep  down, 

14 


THE    HOLE     IN    THE    ROCK  15 

slowly  one  by  one,  as  from  a  settling  misplacement 
underneath,  until  at  last  the  dull  waters  found  their  level 
and  held  it. 

Colonel  Penwin  sat  a  horse  well.  He  was  of  robust 
frame,  and  in  his  every  motion  there  was  the  hint  of 
the  well-bred  military  man  and  Southern  gentleman.  His 
features  were  regular  and  handsome,  and  the  abundance 
of  light,  auburn  hair,  worn  a  trifle  long,  gave  a  distin 
guished  touch  to  his  appearance.  Just  now  his  face  was 
set  in  stern  lines ;  his  cheeks  above  his  auburn  beard  were 
stone-hued,  and  his  gray  eyes  were  like  circles  of  gray 
steel. 

The  last  bubble  on  the  pool  had  vanished  into  thin 
air  as  David  Lamond  and  Hiram  Darrow  rode  into  the 
ravine.  Both  men  were  plainly  dressed,  after  the  man 
ner  of  the  first  settlers  of  the  prairies.  The  former  car 
ried  a  shotgun  on  his  saddle  bow,  the  latter  was  unarmed. 
Lamond. was  a  well-built  man,  with  the  physique  the 
frontier  requires.  A  fair-haired  Scotchman,  with  an  hon 
est  face,  a  firm  mouth,  and  a  muscular  fist.  It  would  be 
easy  guessing  where  to  find  him  in  the  battles  of  his 
day.  He  had  been  born  on  the  old  headland  of  Ard- 
lamond,  in  Scotland.  The  strength  of  the  bitter  northern 
clime  was  in  his  blood ;  the  readiness  to  fight  for  a  just 
cause  was  in  his  brawny  arm ;  while  bluntness  of  speech, 
hatred  of  a  lie,  tenacity  to  a  conviction,  shrewdness  in 
reading  men's  purposes,  and  unyielding  faith  in  the 
power  of  God  omnipotent  —  all  were  his ;  and  with  these, 
the  tender  love  of  old  Scotch  traditions  and  faithfulness 
to  the  land  of  his  birth  had  given  him  high  notions  of 
loyalty,  and  made  the  Stars  and  Stripes  now  the  symbol 
of  his  supremest  duty  and  power. 

He  had  heard  the  call  of  Kansas  for  Free-State  set 
tlers,  when  it  became  a  Territory,  and  leaving  his  pic- 


16  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

turesque  home  and  Scotch  neighbors  in  the  beautiful 
Alleghany  Mountain  region  of  Pennsylvania,  had  hur 
ried  hither  in  answer  to  that  call.  Small  matter  to  him 
that  in  these  open,  rolling  prairies  there  was  nothing 
suggestive  of  the  home  life  and  associations  of  Pennsyl 
vania.  He  struck  root  easily  in  any  soil,  not  from  a 
fickle  inconstancy,  but  because  of  his  firm  sense  of 
loyalty,  that  knew  no  law  of  locality. 

Hiram  Darrow  might  at  first  seem  out  of  place  in 
the  harshness  of  the  frontier  settlements.  Imprinted  on 
his  scholarly  face  were  dignity  of  thought,  self-possession, 
and  courage.  And  with  these  the  inheritance  of  a  long 
line  of  Quaker  ancestry  had  bred  in  him  a  gentleness  of 
manner,  a  power  void  of  violence.  The  Call  of  the  West 
had  been  a  spiritual  voice  to  him,  bidding  him  cast  his 
strength,  not  for  the  flag  alone,  but  for  the  larger  free 
dom  of  the  human  race. 

The  characterization  of  these  two  men  Mark  Darrow 
had  summed  up  once  in  the  declaration : 

"David  Lamond  wouldn't  begin  any  row,  but  he 
would  n't  wait  to  be  hit  before  he  got  in  a  big  lick  him 
self;  but  when  the  dust  settled  at  last,  I'll  bet  if  any 
man  was  standing  solid  on  his  own  two  feet  it  would  be 
my  daddy." 

"  And  I  'm  just  like  both  of  'em,"  the  boy  usually  added, 
with  Elliot  finishing: 

"Plus  the  cussedness  you  get  from  the  Lord  knows 
where,  and  your  hotheaded  foolishness." 

These  two  men  were  types  of  the  real  State-builders 
of  the  West.  Small  space  is  given  to  such  types  in 
history,  for  history  has  space  only  for  dramatic  climaxes 
of  events. 

On  the  threshold  of  Kansas  these  two  settlers,  thrown 
together  by  mere  chance,  with  others  of  like  mettle  from 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE    ROCK          17 

New  England  and  Ohio,  had  found  their  cause  await 
ing  them.  Boniface  Penwin,  their  nearest  neighbor,  had 
at  first  been  friendly,  after  the  frontier  fashion.  With 
the  passing  of  the  summer,  however,  his  contempt  for 
what  he  had  first  termed  harmless  Yankee  fanatics  was 
changing  to  a  wholesome  respect  and  a  growing  hatred 
that  awaited  only  the  arrival  of  others  of  his  breed,  or  the 
lining  up  of  political  parties  to  touch  to  explosion.  For, 
with  his  native  courtesy  and  good  breeding,  Penwin  was 
a  man  of  quick,  violent  passions. 

Meanwhile,  the  growing  friendship  of  the  children  of 
the  three  families,  transplanted  in  this  lonely  new  land, 
had  helped  somewhat  to  hold  back  the  inevitable  moment 
of  disruption.  That  moment,  following  the  journey  of 
the  three  to  Lawrence,  this  October  day  was  destined 
to  bring. 

The  two  men  approached  the  crossing  and  reined  in 
their  horses  opposite  the  Colonel. 

"  Good  evening,  Penwin,"  Lamond  greeted  him.  "  You 
didn't  stay  to  the  election.  Somebody  at  the  Eldridge 
House,  Merriford,  I  believe  it  was,  said  you  had  gone 
across  the  Kaw  to  the  Delaware  Reservation.  You 
missed  getting  an  office,  I  am  sure.  Darrow  and  I  are 
both  delegates  to  the  Topeka  convention." 

The  Colonel's  face  was  still  gray  and  changeless,  as 
he  replied: 

"  I  went  up  to  Leavenworth.  My  business  was 
important." 

"Been  getting  a  new  horse?"  Lamond  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  traded  for  him,  coming  home,"  Penwin 
answered,  carelessly. 

"Thee  traded  for  that  horse  coming  from  Leaven- 
worth?"  Hiram  Darrow  spoke,  slowly.  "What  did  thee 
offer  by  way  of  trade?" 


18  AWALLOFMEN 

"  Oh,  I  gave  the  bay  colt,"  the  Colonel  said. 

"Any  boot  go  with  it?"  queried  Darrow. 

Colonel  Penwin's  eyes  burned. 

"  Now,  see  here,  Darrow,  you  think  I  stole  this  horse, 
don't  you?  I  '11  be "  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

Lamond  and  Darrow  exchanged  glances. 

"Go  on,  Penwin.  Thee  has  something  more  on  thy 
mind.  Why  not  say  it  now?  I  don't  think  thee  stole 
that  horse.  Does  thee  think  thee  did?" 

The  gray  hue  was  swept  from  Penwin's  face  by  a 
fierce  anger  flame,  and  his  eyes  took  on  the  color  of  the 
Hole  in  the  Rock,  but  his  sense  of  courtesy  controlled 
him  still  as  he  spoke. 

"  Gentlemen,  we  may  as  well  end  this  farce  now.  Last 
April  we  found  ourselves  neighbors  in  the  wilderness 
here.  One  of  you  came  from  a  little  Quaker  town  in 
Indiana  and  the  other  from  further  east.  There  are 
twenty  claims  of  land  taken  up  now,  where  there  was 
only  one  six  months  ago.  Next  spring  will  see  a  hundred 
for  every  twenty  this  fall.  I  don't  care  what  brings  you 
nor  any  other  man  to  this  new  Territory,  but,  before  God, 
I  had  only  one  purpose  in  coming  from  Georgia  to 
Kansas." 

There  was  a  slight  rustling  in  the  bushes  beyond  the 
black  pool,  and  a  single  bubble  rose  to  the  surface  and 
hung  there  like  a  clear,  menacing  eye  in  the  darkness. 

"I  came  here  just  as  I  know  hundreds  of  other  men 
are  coming  now  and  will  keep  on  coming  —  to  make 
this  a  land  of  liberty  for  gentlemen,  where  they  can 
control  their  own  possessions,  and  extend  the  great 
industrial  institution  of  slavery  without  any  Yankee 
interference.  And,  by  the  God  in  heaven,  there  is  no 
power  that  can  prevent  them.  These  prairies  are  going 
to  be  tilled  by  black  hands,  and  white  hands  will  own 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE     ROCK  19 

and  direct  them.  And  they  will  always  do  it.  Under 
the  old  English  law  a  man's  property  is  his  own  just  as 
much  as  his  soul  is  his  own,  and  the  sooner  these  fool 
stupid  Yankees  learn  that,  the  better  it  will  be  for 
them." 

Lamond's  eyes  were  flashing,  and  his  square  jaws  set 
like  a  vise. 

"There  is  no  use  mincing  words,  gentlemen,"  the 
Colonel  went  on.  "We  have  been  peaceful  neighbors 
these  few  months  we  have  known  each  other,  and  I  have 
liked  you  fellows  well  as  neighbors.  But  this  Territory 
and  its  concerns  are  stronger  than  any  neighborhood 
business.  Human  rights  are  the  biggest  interests  of  any 
nation.  I  didn't  go  up  to  Lawrence  to  have  any  part 
in  that  election  of  delegates.  I  knew  you  would  be 
chosen.  And  you  will  go  to  the  Topeka  convention  next 
week  for  just  one  thing  —  to  make  a  State  Constitution 
that  will  keep  slaveholders  from  coming  into  Kansas, —  to 
make  a  State  hide-bound  by  sectional  tyrants  who  want 
to  own  all  these  fair  prairies  themselves.  I  'm  here,  gen 
tlemen,  to  establish  my  right  to  own  niggers,  and  I'm 
going  to  do  it.  Neighbor  or  stranger,  I  tell  you  now, 
I  '11  send  the  first  man  to  hell  who  tries  to  stop  me.  And 
I  won't  know  a  damned  abolitionist  from  any  other  dead 
man,  either." 

The  gray  color  had  come  back  to  Penwin's  coun 
tenance  again,  and  his  every  muscle  was  tense.  Lamond 
clutched  hard  on  the  butt  of  his  shotgun;  but  Darrow, 
leaning  forward  carelessly,  combed  out  his  horse's  mane 
with  his  fingers. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"Well,  isn't  it  enough  for  you  to  see  just  where  you 
are?  Don't  say  I  didn't  warn  you,  and  go  whining 
that  you  didn't  understand  when  the  issue  comes,  as  it 


20  A    WALL    OF     MEN 

will  come,  damned  soon.  And  I  can  settle  our  part  of  it 
with  you  fellows  any  minute  you  want  to  do  it." 

Penwin's  voice  rose  to  a  shout.  There  was  a  savage 
venom  in  his  eyes  as  he  finished,  and  he  sat  as  if  ready 
to  spring  to  action.  But  Darrow  only  lifted  his  hand  in 
gentle  motion. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  thee,  Penwin.  I  ask  for  no  mercy. 
I'll  measure  chances  with  thee  any  day.  Human  rights 
are  a  nation's  biggest  interest.  That 's  why  I  am  an  abo 
litionist,  and  that  is  just  why  I  came  to  Kansas."  Dar- 
row's  face  was  serene  and  void  of  fear. 

Colonel  Penwin's  hands  twitched  as  if  held  back  from 
the  Quaker's  throat.  And  Lamond,  with  both  fists 
clenched,  now  burst  out : 

"  We  knew  you  were  a  Southern  sympathizer,  Penwin, 
but  we  mistook  you  for  a  gentleman.  If  you  think 
you  can  settle  this  question  here,  and  want  to  fight, 
come  on.  You  and  all  your  kind  will  find  us  ready 
for  you." 

He  leaped  the  crossing  at  a  bound,  but  Darrow,  follow 
ing  quickly,  wheeled  the  white  horse  between  the  black 
and  the  roan. 

"  Do  questions  of  state  rest  on  a  struggle  between  two 
or  three  men  in  a  lonely  ravine  in  Kansas?"  he  asked. 
"  Don't  fight  till  thee  must,  David." 

"  When  would  you  fight,  you  coward  ? "  Penwin  hissed 
out  the  question. 

"  Never,"  answered  Darrow,  "  and  I  may  be  living  here 
in  a  peaceful  land  untainted  by  slavery,  black  or  white, 
when  thee  and  thy  kind  are  overcome.  But  if  I  perish, 
I  perish.  Beyond  me  lies  an  issue  larger  than  the  interest 
of  any  single  man.  It  must  triumph." 

"  God  grant  it,"  came  a  fervent  voice  from  beyond  the 
three,  and  a  man  on  horseback,  the  same  man  whom  the 


"Don't  fight  till  thee  must,  David" 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE    ROCK          21 

children  on  the  bluff  had  directed  hither,  appeared  sud 
denly  in  the  Trail. 

The  three  men  turned  at  his  words,  and  Penwin  hastily 
backed  his  horse  to  the  farther  side  of  the  stream,  leaving 
this  man  with  the  other  two  on  the  hither  side.  The 
last  rays  of  the  October  sunset  smote  through  the  tree- 
tops,  filling  the  upper  air  with  a  golden  gray  light.  Down 
in  the  ravine  the  warm  languor  of  the  afternoon  had 
given  place  to  the  evening's  chill,  and  the  shadows  were 
gathering  thick  about  the  Hole  in  the  Rock. 

Lined  up  on  either  side  of  the  little  thread  of  waters 
were  the  forces  that  stood  that  day  for  a  nation-wide 
conflict.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  Southern  settler, 
strong,  defiant,  sure  of  himself  and  of  his  possession  of 
power,  dogged  in  his  determination  to  sweep  every 
obstacle  from  his  way,  however  brutal  the  force  might 
be  that  did  it.  Yet  there  was  something  imposing  about 
him.  To  himself  his  cause  was  just.  He  was  no  mere 
highway  ruffian.  He  had  come  to  the  West  to  make 
Kansas  a  Slave  Territory,  to  build  Empire  broadly  — 
according  to  his  own  conception  of  breadth.  It  troubled 
him  nothing  that  in  this  State-building,  human  life  must 
run  cheap  and  broken  hearts  and  tortured  bodies  must 
be  piled  into  the  trenches  of  its  foundations.  Under  other 
skies  he  might  not  have  been  by  nature  cold-blooded  and 
brutal;  but  the  sure  heritage  of  a  slave-ridden  land  is 
not  more  in  the  curse  of  bondage  to  the  enslaved  than 
in  the  curse  of  warped  spiritual  natures  and  brutalized 
sensibilities,  and  degraded  ideals  in  the  enslavers. 

On  the  hither  side  of  the  stream  three  men  sat  still 
on  their  horses  facing  Colonel  Penwin:  David  Lamond, 
the  fighting  Scotchman;  Hiram  Darrow,  the  Quaker; 
and  this  stranger,  whose  eyes  saw  only  tragedy,  whose 
soul  was  bounding  on  to  victory. 


22  A    WALL     OF     MEN 

Even  in  the  stillness  of  the  moment  these  men  on  either 
side  of  the  little  water  run,  intent  on  each  other,  failed 
to  note  the  crackling  of  twigs  beyond  them  and  the 
faint  rasp  of  a  button  or  bead  against  a  stone.  In  that 
moment  a  black  face  with  staring  eyes  of  terror  and  hate 
peered  through  the  bushes  overhanging  the  Hole  in  the 
Rock.  An  instant  only  and  then  a  gray,  green  foliage 
settled  above  the  waters.  At  the  same  time,  around  the 
bare,  black  rock-shelf  above  the  crossing,  another  face 
showed  itself  for  a  moment,  as  a  beaded  moccasin  scraped 
the  tight  crevice  of  the  uncertain  foothold;  a  coppery 
face,  with  cold,  black  eyes,  fearless,  and  still  as  the 
pool  below. 

The  stranger  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"This  is  Hiram  Darrow,  and  this  is  David  Lamond. 
Am  I  right?"  he  queried. 

The  men  nodded  assent. 

"And  this  is  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin,  late  of 
Georgia." 

Penwin  did  not  reply,  but  sat  looking  straight  at  the 
questioner. 

"  Never  mind,"  the  man  went  on,  "  I  knew  of  you 
before  I  came  here.  My  business  was  with  these  two 
on  this  side  of  the  water,  but  I'll  make  it  my  business 
to  tell  you,  Boniface  Penwin,  that  though  the  day  of 
God's  judgment  and  God's  vengeance  may  seem  long 
in  coming,  it  will  come;  though  you  and  your  kind  may 
believe  you  can  control  the  West,  and  plant  it,  and  reap 
it  with  the  toil  of  black  human  chattels,  fettered  feet 
shall  never  walk  these  prairies,  nor  shackled  hands  be 
lifted  in  prayer  for  deliverance  under  these  free  skies. 
And  this  shall  never  be  a  slave-ridden  State,  though  every 
Kansas  stream  run  red  with  human  blood,  and  every 
black  pool  of  water  hold  a  human  corpse." 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE    ROCK          23 

Was  there  a  low  moan  of  fear  and  agony  somewhere 
in  the  shadows,  down  the  water  way,  or  was  it  only  the 
sighing  of  the  wind  in  the  ravine?  On  the  dull  surface 
of  the  Hole  in  the  Rock  two  ghastly  white  bubbles  with 
a  little  streak  of  white  foam  close  under  them  suggested 
a  dark  face  with  staring  eyes  and  white,  grinning  teeth. 
Only  Penwin  saw  this,  however,  and  the  heart  of  the 
Sphinx  was  scarce  colder  than  his  own  still  heart  as 
he  gazed. 

Lamond  and  Darrow  saw  only  the  speaker's  face  illu 
mined  with  a  strange  power.  They  heard  nothing  but  his 
steady  voice,  under  whose  tone  ran  a  minor  chord  of 
tragedy. 

"  I  heard  you  state  your  purpose  in  coming  here,  Pen- 
win,"  he  continued,  "and  I  know  from  your  Southern 
States  an  army  of  slave  drivers  is  heading  this  way  to 
join  another  army  across  the  border  here.  They  are 
coming  to  trample  down  everything  before  them.  No 
man,  nor  woman,  nor  child  will  be  sacred  to  them.  All 
human  life  will  be  as  trash  for  their  plunder.  The  sys 
tem  of  slavery  makes  such  beasts  out  of  men.  And  they 
count  on  their  numbers  and  their  brutal  power  to  win 
the  day.  But  they  will  not  win.  In  the  old  Hebrew 
times,  the  Lord  promised  to  be  a  wall  of  fire  round  about 
his  people.  There  '11  be  no  wall  of  fire  here,  but  a  wall 
of  men  on  this  frontier,  standing  up  in  the  strength  of 
God  Almighty,  will  be  round  about  the  State  of  Kansas 
and  build  into  it  the  eternal  right  of  human  liberty.  And 
to  this  building  I  give  myself,  even  my  life." 

"And  I." 

"And  I." 

Darrow  and  Lamond  responded  reverently. 

The  bubbles  went  where  all  bubbles  go.  The  foam  was 
only  little  scattered  white  flecks  now.  The  dark  water 


24  AWALLOFMEN 

was  glassy  in  the  last  beams  of  the  sunset,  the  bushes 
were  still,  the  stone  ledges  gave  out  no  rasping  sound. 

Across  the  stream  Colonel  Penwin  was  himself  again. 

"  I  will  not  waste  time  with  fanatics,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  When  the  crisis  comes,  ask  no  quarter  of  me,  for 
I  shall  not  know  what  you  mean.  As  for  you,  stranger, 
you'll  fight  your  last  battle  on  the  gallows-tree  and  fall 
from  it  into  an  infamous  grave." 

"If  I  have  but  fought  for  the  freedom  of  my  fellow 
men,  I  shall  care  little  for  the  last  bar  over  which  I 
struggle  into  eternity." 

Penwin  wheeled  his  horse  at  these  words  and  dashed 
up  the  steep  slope  of  the  ravine.  The  other  three  climbed 
up  the  east  bank  and  followed  the  Trail  toward  the 
wooded  bluff, 

"Will  thee  come  home  with  me,  stranger?"  queried 
Darrow. 

"  Yes,  for  the  night,"  the  man  replied. 

"  Come  over  after  supper,  Lamond,  and  let  us  talk  of 
these  matters.  The  very  air  is  full  of  trouble,"  Darrow 
went  on,  as  a  cold  autumn  breeze  came  sweeping  out 
of  the  far  west. 

Lamond  assented,  and  soon  separated  from  them  to 
follow  the  by-trail  to  his  own  holding. 

Down  in  the  ravine  a  fleet-footed  Delaware  Indian, 
keeping  close  in  the  shadows,  slipped  noiseless  up  the 
stream ;  while,  creeping  from  one  hiding-place  to  another, 
a  huge  African,  with  gleaming  eyes  and  thumping  heart, 
followed  the  downward  course  of  the  waters. 


CHAPTER    III 
DARRARAT" 

Give  me  men  to  match  my  mountains, 
Give  me  men  to  match  my  plains; 

Men  with  empires  in  their  bosoms, 
Men  with  eras  in  their  brains. 

THE  western  sky  was  still  roseate  with  the  after- 
sunset  glow,  and  the  purple  east  was  deepening  in 
the  autumn  twilight,  when  Hiram  Darrow  and  his  new 
acquaintance  climbed  the  slope  to  the  Darrow  home.  It 
stood  on  a  swell  overlooking  the  Vinland  Valley.  A 
clump  of  evergreens  sheltered  it  round  about.  Although 
six  months  before  there  had  been  here  only  virgin  prairie, 
already  there  were  many  tokens  of  a  thrifty,  permanent 
abiding-place.  Like  the  oasis  to  the  desert-sick  traveler, 
it  seemed  a  haven  to  the  stranger  journeying  hither 
for  the  first  time,  heartsick  for  the  comforts  of  the 
home-life  back  in  the  States.  Built  of  logs,  it  was  in 
reality  four  little  cabins  set  near  enough  together  to 
leave  roofed  hallways  running  between  each  two,  and 
meeting  in  the  center  in  a  roomy  opening  large  enough 
for  the  family  gathering  together.  Where  the  kitchen 
cabin  cornered  into  this  space  the  stone  chimney  was 
built,  serving  on  its  two  sides  the  double  purpose  of 
cooking-place  in  the  kitchen  and  a  wide  fireplace  in  the 
hall. 

Above  this  central  open  space  the  boys  had  built  a 
rude  sort  of  tower  cornering  against  the  chimney,  with 

25 


26  AWALLOFMEN 

windows  swinging  in  on  stout  leather  hinges  fastened 
at  the  top.  A  rough  shelf  two  feet  wide,  formed  by  logs 
above,  made  a  good  place  for  an  outlook.  And  here 
Mark  had  constructed  a  narrow  seat  where  he  could  sit 
and  watch  the  surrounding  country  as  he  chose.  These 
windows  served  also  to  give  light  and  ventilation  to  the 
space  about  the  fireplace  below.  The  tower  was  reached 
only  by  climbing  the  log  angle  of  one  of  the  cabin 
rooms  cornering  below  it.  But  climbing  was  a  part  of 
Mark's  business  in  life.  He  had  christened  the  nook 
"  Darrarat,"  which  he  said  was  short  for  Darrow 
"  Ararat,"  and  it  was  his  lookout  for  the  Dove  of  Peace 
if  it  ever  found  an  olive-branch  to  bring  Kansasward. 

About  this  cabin  home  the  morning-glory  vines  were 
still  green,  and  little  patches  of  bluegrass  in  one  Sum 
mer  had  already  encroached  on  the  untamed  domain  of 
the  prairie  sod.  The  firelight  gleamed  warm  and  rosy 
through  the  south  windows,  a  welcome  beacon  to  the  two 
men  far  down  the  Trail,  who  caught  its  glow  twinkling 
through  the  evergreens. 

"  Ship  ahoy ! "  cried  Mark  from  his  outlook  up  in  his 
"Darrarat."  "Joe,  tell  mother  I  see  two  suspicious- 
looking  characters  approaching  stealthily  from  the  west. 
By  their  mysterious  actions  they  must  be  intending  to 
raid  this  castle.  Hustle,  Joe ! " 

Joe  made  a  rush  for  the  door,  shouting  toward  the 
kitchen  cabin,  "  Mother,  Mother,  Mark  says  father's 
coming ! " 

Isabel  Darrow  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched  the 
two  men  riding  homeward  in  the  purple  shadows  of  eve 
ning.  The  soft,  west  light  illumined  her  face  and  touched 
to  clearer  outline  the  setting  in  which  she  made  a  picture 
fair  to  see.  For  she  was  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the 
lasting  matronly  beauty  of  a  madonna.  Her  heavy,  dark 


"DARRARAT"  27 

hair,  parted  and  combed  smoothly  away  from  her  fore 
head,  lay  in  soft  folds  about  her  head,  giving  it  Greek 
outlines  rather  than  Quaker  plainness.  Her  eyes  were 
large  and  dark.  The  roses  in  one  Kansas  Summer  had 
not  faded  from  her  cheeks,  and  her  smile  was  irresistible. 
Not  often  does  the  charm  of  girlhood  become  so  strongly 
the  heritage  of  womanhood.  But  back  of  Nature's  gifts 
to  this  Quaker  woman  was  the  larger  heritage  of  brain 
and  heart,  combined  with  the  vigor  only  good  health  can 
sustain.  With  such  a  woman  at  his  hearthstone,  it  was 
easy  to  understand  why  Hiram  Darrow  could  face  the 
future  hopefully  in  this  new,  frontier  home-building. 

"  Here  we  are,  Isabel,"  was  her  husband's  greeting  as, 
with  his  stranger  companion,  he  entered  the  hall.  "  This 
is  a  friend  I  found  down  the  Trail.  Thee  will  welcome 
him  for  the  night,  dearie." 

"What  is  thy  name?"  asked  Isabel,  smiling,  and 
extending  her  hand. 

"  My  name  is  John  Brown,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  shall 
be  glad  to  spend  the  night  here,  for  I  have  much  to  say 
to  your  husband." 

"Thee  is  very  welcome.  Come,  Hiram,  the  supper  is 
ready,  and  the  boys  are  hungry." 

Mark  was  the  last  to  reach  the  table.  As  he  sat  down, 
his  eyes  sought  John  Brown's  in  one  long  gaze.  A 
shiver  of  fear  shook  Isabel  Darrow  —  she  did  not  know 
why.  Some  faint  sense  of  coming  ill,  too  fleeting  to 
fasten  in  memory,  possessed  her  for  the  moment. 

In  the  early  Quaker  homes  the  younger  members 
entered  little  into  the  conversation  of  their  elders.  The 
boys  in  the  Darrow  household  listened  eagerly,  but  said 
nothing  at  the  supper  table  that  night,  while  their  father 
and  mother  talked  with  their  guest.  When  the  meal  was 
ended,  Mark  and  Joe  were  the  first  to  leave  the  kitchen. 


28  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"Children  should  be  seen  and  not  heard.  Run  in 
there,  Joey  dear,  and  let  'em  look  at  thee,  but  don't  thee 
cheep,  little  chickie."  Mark  pushed  Joe  before  him  into 
the  hall  as  the  others  rose  from  the  table. 

"My  job  is  to  hear,  if  I  am  not  heard;  and  to  see, 
when  I  am  not  seen,"  he  declared  further,  as  he  heaped 
wood  on  the  smoldering  fire  on  the  hearthstone. 

As  the  flames  leaped  up  and  the  shadows  flared  about 
the  corners,  Joe,  tired  from  his  long  tramp  of  the  after 
noon,  dropped  into  his  chair  in  the  corner,  forgetting  to 
note  which  way  Mark  had  headed  with  his  last  words. 
Joe  would  be  asleep  in  five  minutes,  for  that  was  what 
night  meant  to  him. 

There  was  only  one  topic  discussed  in  Kansas  in  those 
days:  Territorial  settlement  and  the  right  to  the  balance 
of  power  at  the  ballot  box.  Every  month  saw  the  incom 
ing  of  new  settlers,  whose  opinions  on  this  topic  was  the 
first  census  taken  in  the  Territory.  Already  invaders 
from  across  the  eastern  border  had  come  with  mob  vio 
lence  to  control  political  elections.  Three-fourths  of  all 
the  ballots  at  these  elections  had  been  cast  by  men  who 
never  intended  to  make  a  home  nor  claim  a  citizenship 
in  Kansas.  They  came  only  for  the  day,  to  vote  into 
power  the  men  and  measures  that  should  fasten  a  South 
ern  institution  upon  a  land,  regardless  of  the  rights  and 
wishes  of  those  to  whom  the  land  belonged.  In  these 
days  of  peace  and  justice,  and  broader  views  and  forgot 
ten  prejudices,  and  the  buried  bitterness  of  hatreds,  the 
tragic  reality  and  sweet  romance  and  sublime  heroism  of 
that  day  of  State-building  seem  only  as  a  tale  that  is 
told.  By  the  flickering  hearth  fire  in  the  little  Darrow 
home,  that  long  ago  October  night,  it  was  a  very  real  and 
present  problem,  fraught  with  all  the  grief  and  danger 


"  D  A  R  R  A  R  A  T  "  29 

and  cruel  outrage  of  justice  crucified,  that  made  each 
day  of  those  early  years  a  day  of  historic  worth. 

John  Brown  sat  long  in  silence,  gazing  at  the  leaping 
flames  and  glowing  embers.  On  either  side  of  the  hearth 
sat  Hiram  and  Isabel  Darrow.  Little  Joe  nodded  in  the 
corner,  and  forgot  all  his  troubles  in  the  drowsy 
warmth. 

"Mother,  I'm  going  over  to  Lamond's,"  Elliot  said, 
softly,  coming  behind  his  mother's  chair,  and  placing 
a  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder.  "I  have  all  thy  dishes 
washed.  Mark,  the  lazy  dog,  never  put  his  head  inside 
the  kitchen  since  he  broke  out  of  here  with  Joe.  He  can 
take  his  turn  to-morrow."  Elliot  smiled  down  on  his 
mother,  and  with  a  gentle  good-by  gesture,  slipped  away. 

Outside  of  the  door  he  caught  sight  of  a  shadow  that 
swung  quickly  behind  a  cedar  tree.  He  leaped  after  it, 
but  whatever  had  made  it  was  too  swift  for  him,  and  the 
night  breeze  sweeping  up  the  slope  bent  all  the  dark 
evergreens  before  it  and  swung  fantastic  shadows  in  the 
moonlight.  Elliot  stood  still  a  moment,  doubting  that 
he  had  seen  anything  but  the  wind-drifted  shade  of  the 
cedar,  when  a  lull  in  the  breeze  showed  his  quick  eye  a 
dark  form  only  a  few  feet  away.  It  fled  so  quickly  that 
it  seemed  at  first  to  melt  into  the  evergreens,  and  then, 
like  a  flash,  it  passed  beyond  the  corner  of  the  house. 

The  game  was  interesting  now,  and  Elliot  searched 
every  shaded  spot  and  watched  each  evergreen  shrub. 

"Mark;  hello,  Mark,"  he  called,  "I'll  give  it  up." 

But  no  Mark  appeared,  and  a  slight  noise  caught  his 
ear.  A  foot  on  wood  somewhere.  Elliot  looked  in  every 
direction. 

"All  right,  Mark,  you  will-o'-the-wisp,  I'm  going  to 
quit  now ;  good-by ! "  and  whistling  a  little  strain  of  an 


30  AWALLOFMEN 

old  love  song  he  strode  away  in  the  moonlight  toward 
the  cabin  home  of  David  Lamond. 

Inside  the  Darrow  cabin  John  Brown  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Hiram  Darrow,  there  is  only  one  issue  in  our  Nation 
to-day.  It  centers  here  in  Kansas.  There  is  only  one 
thing  to  do,  and  that  is  to  meet  this  issue.  There  is  only 
one  way  to  meet  it." 

The  speaker  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  flaming  wood,  and 
gazed  upward,  raising  his  big  right  hand  as  he  spoke. 
The  firelight  fell  full  on  his  face.  It  was  not  a  brutal 
nor  stupid  face.  No  line  of  hatred  marked  it,  no  dull 
blood-lust  bleared  the  clear  vision.  But  a  sense  of 
prophetic,  irresistible  power  dwelt  around  the  temples 
and  set  the  stern  lips. 

"There  is  only  one  way  to  meet  it,"  the  speaker 
repeated.  "The  stain  of  sin  must  be  washed  out  with 
human  blood." 

"God  forbid!"  exclaimed  Hiram  Darrow.  "Did  not 
the  Christ  come  to  bring  peace  on  earth?" 

"  He  came  not  to  bring  peace,  but  a  sword.  He  said  it 
himself  to  the  people  of  his  time.  Darrow,  why  did  you 
come  here  if  you  do  not  mean  to  make  this  a  free  land?  " 

"  I  stand  for  the  freedom  that  saves  life,  not  destroys 
it.  That's  why  I  am  here.  Thee  cannot  build  up  life 
on  death,  friend  Brown.  The  mills  of  the  gods  grind 
slowly,  but  the  grist  must  be  golden,  not  tainted  with 
human  gore." 

"  You  will  wait  till  the  Judgment  Day  before  you  save 
this  Territory  without  bloodshed,"  ejaculated  Brown. 

"  That's  what  we  ought  to  wait  for,"  calmly  replied  the 
Quaker.  "'Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,'  saith  the 
Lord." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  there  are  chosen  instruments,  vessels 


"DARK  A  RAT"  31 

of  the  temple.  I  am  afraid  that  you  Quaker  people  are 
not  the  people  who  will  move  the  world." 

There  was  a  note  of  impatience  in  Brown's  voice. 

"  Maybe  not,  maybe  not,  but  we  anchor  it  somewhat, 
with  an  anchor  both  sure  and  steadfast." 

The  burning  logs  fell  apart,  and  Darrow,  standing  to 
push  the  pieces  together,  caught  a  faint,  tapping  sound  at 
the  south  window. 

"  It  is  only  Mark's  cat,"  said  Isabel.  "  I  '11  let  her  in 
the  kitchen.  Come,  Joe,  thee  must  go  to  bed." 

Little  Joe  wabbled  off,  half  asleep,  to  his  cot  beside  his 
mother's  bed,  and  Mrs.  Darrow,  after  setting  things  to 
rights,  opened  the  kitchen  door  to  let  in  the  big  tabby 
cat  Mark  had  brought  with  them  all  the  way  from 
Indiana.  Outside  there  was  a  glory  of  October  moon 
light,  and  the  night  had  lost  the  first  promise  of  evening 
chill.  A  sweet,  bracing  breeze  blew  up  from  the  south, 
and  the  whole  Vinland  Valley  swam  in  a  silver  radiance 
touched  here  and  there  with  purple  shadows,  and  over 
all  brooded  the  sweet  serenity  of  the  heavens,  crystal 
clear  and  exquisitely  lovely. 

Far  down  the  white  Trail,  two  figures  were  moving 
swiftly  along.  But  before  she  had  time  to  note  them, 
a  dark  form  loomed  up  between  her  and  the  moonlit 
Trail,  and  a  huge  negro  stepped  toward  the  doorway.  In 
the  soft  light  Mrs.  Darrow's  face  shone  fair  and  fearless, 
and  her  smile  was  as  sweet  as  her  words  were  genial. 

"How  does  thee  do?  I  thought  it  was  the  cat  I 
heard.  Will  thee  come  in?" 

The  man  made  one  step  toward  the  door,  then,  stop 
ping,  he  bowed  courteously,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Southern  negro. 

"I  don't  think  I  dare"— he  hesitated— "I  is  a  free 
man,  I  is  not  a  slave,  but  I  is  not  wanted  here.  I  would 


32  AWALLOFMEN 

make  trouble  for  you  all.  But  I  is  so  hungry.  If  you 
all  give  me  some  supper,  I  '11  go  on."  His  vc'ce  had  the 
musical  African  softness,  but  his  words  came  slowly, 
and  there  was  fear  in  his  very  tone. 

"Come  in,  thee  is  welcome  here,"  and  Isabel  Darrow 
led  the  way  into  the  little  kitchen.  "  Sit  down  and  wait 
a  minute.  Thee  must  be  tired.  Where  did  thee  come 
from?" 

She  was  setting  out  food,  cold  meat,  corn  bread,  a 
little  butter  and  molasses,  and  over  the  fire  the  coffee 
pot  was  beginning  to  send  out  its  own  fragrant  welcome 
to  the  hungry,  when  the  voices  of  the  men  came  through 
the  half-closed  door. 

"  I  tell  you,  Darrow,  no  negro's  life  is  safe  here,  nor 
anywhere  North  or  South,  and  the  curse  of  the  Almighty 
will  plague  this  land  with  famine  and  fire  and 
sword." 

The  black  man  in  the  kitchen  leaped  toward  the  door. 
His  teeth  chattered  and  his  eyes  gleamed. 

"  Give  me  just  one  bite,  and  I 's  gone.  Thank  you  all, 
dat  coffee"  —  how  appetizing  a  plague  that  drink  can 
be  —  "Dat  do  smell  good." 

"Thee  is  safe  here.  Thee  is  hungry.  Thee  must  eat 
something." 

By  the  flaring  candle-light  that  little  cabin  held  a  pic 
ture  only  a  master's  hand  could  paint.  The  great,  dark 
form  before  the  doorway,  with  hunger-gaunt  face  and 
staring  eyes,  the  strength  of  a  giant  in  his  muscular 
arm,  the  weakness  of  a  child  in  his  simple  mind  and  over 
whelming  fear,  and  beyond  him,  in  the  uncertain  light, 
the  sweet-faced  Quaker  woman,  calm,  fearless,  smiling 
kindly,  with  the  unconscious  grace  of  her  womanhood 
like  a  garment  about  her,  and  a  power  of  mind  and 
voice  —  the  only  real  power  —  that  controls  men. 


"DARRARAT"  33 

"Sit  down,  friend.  Thee  need  not  be  afraid  in  this 
house." 

The  hand,  reaching  for  the  offered  food,  shook  vio 
lently,  and  the  face  was  swept  by  a  wave  of  fear. 

"Are  you,  'fore  God,  sure  I's  safe,  lady?"  he  begged, 

"  I  '11  show  thee  how  safe." 

She  stepped  into  the  hall.  "Come,  Father,  here  is  a 
poor  black  man  in  the  kitchen." 

Darrow  and  Brown  hurried  in. 

"  He  is  afraid  to  eat  his  supper  here,"  Isabel  explained. 

John  Brown  strode  across  the  room  and  took  the 
negro's  hand  in  his.  A  look  of  recognition  passed 
between  the  two. 

"What's  your  name?"  he  asked. 

"  Jupe,  just  Jupe,  is  all."  The  white  teeth  gleamed  in 
a  grin,  with  the  quick  change  from  fear  to  unconcern  so 
characteristic  to  the  race. 

"  Well,  eat  your  supper,  Jupe,  and  then  get  to  Lawrence 
as  fast  as  you  can,  and  stay  there." 

"  If  I  kin  find  Mars'r  Merriford  up  to  Lawrence  I  sure 
stay  whar  he  is,"  and  the  negro  fell  to  eating  like  a 
ravenous  dog. 

"  How  far  have  you  traveled,  Jupe?  "  Darrow  asked. 

A  look  of  shrewd  cunning  lit  Jupe's  eye  as  he  answered, 
guardedly:  "Oh,  from  a  good  ways;  an'  I  ain't  nevah 
gwine  back  to  measure  hit  off  no  more.  No,  sah.  I's 
traveled  a  mighty  sight,  for  I 's  a  Norf  and  Souf  nigga', 
bofe,  an'  I  don't  tell  all  I  knows,  neither." 

There  was  a  rapping  at  the  front  door  and  Darrow  left 
the  kitchen.  John  Brown,  by  the  window,  was  looking 
out  toward  the  Vinland  Valley. 

Mrs.  Darrow  had  turned  away  to  pour  a  second  cup  of 
coffee.  Jupe,  unconscious  of  the  light  behind  him,  made 
a  stride  toward  the  hall,  unnoticed  by  the  two  in  the 


34  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

kitchen;  and,  leaning  through  the  door,  peered  with 
frightened  eyes  after  his  host.  The  voice  of  Craig  Pen- 
win  came  through  the  open  south  door. 

"Are  the  boys  here?" 

"Isabel,  where  is  Elliot?"  his  father  called  from  the 
doorway. 

"  He  went  over  to  Lamond's,"  answered  Isabel  as  she 
came  into  the  hall.  "  Mark  is  in  bed  and  asleep,  I  sup 
pose.  He  was  off  right  after  supper.  I  '11  call  him,"  and 
she  called  down  the  dark  hall,  but  no  answer  came  from 
Mark. 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Darrow,"  Craig  said,  courteously ; 
"good-night,  sir,"  and  he  was  gone. 

As  he  left  the  front  door  Jupe  slipped  through  the 
kitchen  door  and  became  only  a  part  of  the  black  shad 
ows  outside.  Half  way  down  the  slope  Craig  saw  two 
men  who  had  turned  from  the  Trail  toward  the  cabin. 
He  stepped  among  the  evergreen  shadows  and  waited 
their  coming. 

"  I  may  as  well  see  what 's  going  on  up  here,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "There  was  a  nigger  in  the  kitchen  if  that 
candle  light  didn't  lie,  and  here  come  two  men.  Looks 
interesting,  only  I  hope  father  has  no  hand  in  it."  A 
sadness  crept  into  the  proud  face  for  the  moment.  "  Well, 
here's  David  Lamond  and  an  Indian.  What  can  all 
this  mean?"  A  fear  seized  him.  "There  is  nothing  but 
trouble  in  this  place." 

He  waited  until  the  two  men  had  passed  into  the 
house,  then,  keeping  close  to  the  shadows,  he  crept 
round  to  the  west  window  and  cautiously  peered  in.  He 
could  see  the  group  around  the  fire,  but  could  not  hear 
their  words.  The  Indian,  half  in  shadow,  sat  in  silence, 
while  the  other  men  talked  eagerly. 

"  My,  but  Elliot's  mother  is  a  pretty  woman,  and  Elliot 


"DARRARAT"  35 

looks  just  like  her,  the  scamp.  I  wonder  where  Mark 
is.  Not  in  bed,  I  '11  bet  a  horse." 

The  longer  he  looked  the  stronger  became  his  curiosity 
to  hear  what  was  being  so  vehemently  discussed.  It  was 
more  the  eager  curiosity  of  youth  than  any  base  motive 
that  prompted  Craig  Penwin  here. 

"If  I  was  up  above  there  I  could  hear  all  they  say. 
I  believe  I  '11  try  it.  The  boys  have  fixed  little  windows 
that  open  up  there.  Elliot  and  I  got  in  through  one  of 
them  once  when  the  house  was  locked  and  the  folks 
were  away." 

Inside  the  cabin  Lamond  was  talking  excitedly. 

"This  is  the  Delaware,  White  Turkey,  we  saw  in 
Lawrence,  Darrow;  you  remember  Merriford  told  us 
about  him.  He  says  he  followed  us  nearly  to  the  ravine 
because  he  has  reasons  to  think  we  are  in  danger.  He 
turned  aside  because  he  couldn't  overtake  us  in  time. 
There 's  something  wrong  somewhere.  He  came  to  our 
house  this  evening  and  wanted  me  to  come  up  here 
with  him  to  warn  you.  White  Turkey,  tell  the  men 
what  is  on  your  mind." 

Isabel  Darrow,  who  had  sat  quietly  during  all  this 
time,  suddenly  spoke :  "  Hiram,  we  have  seen  this  Indian 
before.  Did  n't  thee  come  here  one  night  last  April,  cold, 
and  wet,  and  hungry,  when  we  had  just  finished  this 
house?" 

She  had  turned  to  the  Indian.  White  Turkey's  face 
did  not  change  as  he  answered  gravely: 

"  Me  cold,  wet,  hungry,  over  there,"  pointing  toward 
the  south.  "Me  ask  Penwin,  Georgia  man,  him  let  me 
stay  by  horses  in  stable.  Him  send  me  off  in  dark,  not 
let  me  stay  away  over  there,"  pointing  southward  again 
toward  Colonel  Penwin's  home.  "  Me  come  here ;  white 
woman  say  come  in.  Give  White  Turkey  meat.  Give 


36  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

coffee.  Let  White  Turkey  sleep  there,"  pointing  toward 
the  kitchen,  "by  warm  fire.  White  Turkey  not  forget. 
While  winds  blow  and  Wakarusa  runs  down  to  Kaw, 
White  Turkey  not  forget." 

"But  now,  what  about  this  matter  to-day?"  queried 
Darrow.  "Of  course,  we  wouldn't  let  thee  suffer  for 
anything  if  we  could  help  it.  Tell  us  about  this  business 
now." 

White  Turkey  looked  steadily  at  John  Brown. 

"Who? "he  queried. 

"  A  friend  of  humanity.  Thee  need  not  fear,"  answered 
Hiram.  "Go  on,  do." 

White  Turkey  deliberated. 

"We  are  all  friends  —  all  of  one  mind,"  declared 
Lamond.  "  Tell  us  anything  that  concerns  us." 

"White  Turkey  —  me,"  pointing  to  himself,  "hear 
Colonel  Penwin  talk  big  talk  in  Eldridge  House.  When 
he  slips  across  the  Kaw  River  at  midnight,  over  to  Dela 
ware's  wigwam,  me  know  him  quick.  He  come  to 
Delaware  house,  he  offer  big  money  if  Delawares  go  help 
him  stop  men  in  ravine  by  Hole  in  the  Rock.  Say  he 
want  to  meet  them  near  where  Trail  cross  by  Hole  in 
the  Rock.  Say  men  bad  and  kill  somebody.  Say  he 
show  Delawares  how  to  stop  men  if  they  go.  Delawares 
poor;  want  money.  Indians  not  rich  like  Colonel  Pen- 
win.  Delawares  say  they  go.  Penwin  hurry  away. 
White  Turkey  speak  then.  Tell  Delaware  brothers 
Quaker  man  and  woman  good  to  White  Turkey.  Penwin 
drive  me  away  in  cold  and  dark  and  wet,  hungry.  Maybe 
men  Penwin  after  Quaker  men.  Shall  Delaware  braves 
help  Penwin?  No  — "  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  the 
Indian  ceased. 

"And  so  you  really  did  follow  us,  did  you?  You 
thought  we  would  get  in  trouble?"  asked  Lamond. 


"  D  A  R  R  A  R  A  T  "  37 

"  White  Turkey  not  want  you  to  meet  by  Hole  in  the 
Rock;  not  know  sure  what  men  Penwin  want  to  meet 
there." 

"What  became  of  your  horse?"  asked  Lamond. 

The  Indian  only  shook  his  head  in  response. 

"Can't  you  tell  us  that?"  Lamond  put  the  question 
carefully. 

"  No "  —  and  White  Turkey  had  closed  his  straight, 
thin  lip  like  the  shell  of  an  oyster. 

"  Never  mind  now,"  Brown  suggested.  "  He  has  told 
us  all  he  wants  to  tell;  let  him  alone  and  trust  him.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  other  matters,  Lamond.  Dar- 
row  and  I  differ  about  conditions.  He  thinks  Kansas  can 
be  saved  by  prayer  and  fasting." 

"I  know  it  cannot,"  the  Scotchman  spoke  quickly. 
"If  we  may  believe  this  Indian,  our  foes  may  be  our 
nearest  neighbors.  There  must  be  war  to  the  sword 
hilt  before  these  prairies  are  free  men's  soil." 

"  It  is  not  our  own  safety  in  a  savage  frontier  that  dis 
turbs  thee,  Lamond.  I  know  thee  better  than  that," 
Darrow  said  gently.  "This  Indian  need  not  make  us 
uneasy.  Our  times  are  in  God's  hands.  The  greater 
thing  is  the  peril  of  a  slave-cursed  nation." 

"And,  by  the  eternal  God,  that  peril  must  be  met  — 
violence  with  violence.  I  am  ready  to  do  my  share,  else 
I  should  never  have  come  here."  Lamond  stood  up  in 
the  splendid  strength  and  vigor  and  courage  of  a  hero 
unafraid.  "  Our  wives  must  take  care  of  our  homes,  for 
every  man  and  boy  must  stand  for  or  against  the 
coming  tide  of  violence.  In  no  other  way  will  Kansas 
be  saved." 

Isabel  Darrow,  on  the  further  side  of  the  hearthstone, 
rose  from  her  chair,  her  dark  eyes  burning  with  a  strange 
glow. 


38  AWALLOFMEN 

"Thee  is  right,  David  Lamond.  Before  heaven,  thee 
has  spoken  the  truth.  I  can  do  my  part  if  I  must."  Her 
voice  rang  sweet  and  clear. 

"Isabel,  Isabel,  what  does  thee  mean?"  her  husband 
cried. 

"  Thee  will  do  thy  part  too,  Hiram ;  I  know  thee  will," 
his  wife  said. 

"  So  will  we  all."  It  was  John  Brown  who  spoke  now. 
"  Men  and  boys,  women  and  children,  Indian  and  negro 
slave.  The  hour  will  strike  soon." 

"  I  will  not  lift  my  hand  against  my  fellow  man  though 
the  heavens  fall." 

No  hint  of  cowardice  was  in  Hiram  Barrow's  tone,  no 
quiver  of  fear  in  his  white,  calm  face,  and  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  say  at  that  moment  which  man  might  be 
the  strongest  there  in  the  wall  of  defence  for  the  helpless 
new  Territory. 

Craig  Penwin,  up  on  the  roof,  had  cautiously  worked 
his  way  to  the  stone  chimney,  and  carefully  pushed  in 
the  little  swinging  window.  The  moon  was  just  above 
him,  and  its  white  beams  fell  full  on  the  brown  head  and 
intent  face  of  Mark  Darrow,  listening  eagerly,  unmind 
ful  of  anything  but  the  group  about  the  flickering  fire 
below.  It  was  the  night  of  destiny  for  Mark. 


CHAPTER    IV 
IN    THE    EVENING    TIME 

Together  we  walked  in  the  evening  time, 
Above  us  the  sky  spread  golden  and  clear; 

And  he  bent  his  head  and  looked  in  my  eyes, 
As  if  he  held  me  of  all  most  dear. 
Oh!  it  was  sweet  in  the  evening  time! 

BETH  LAMOND  and  her  mother  sat  alone  in  the 
moonlit  cabin.  A  neat  little  place  it  was,  with  many 
an  ingenious  device  for  comforts  that  were  lacking  in 
most  frontier  homes.  Lamond  had  been  slow  in  com 
pleting  his  house.  It  was  not  until  the  mid-June  after 
his  coming  to  the  West  that  it  was  ready  for  use.  But 
when  it  was  ready,  it  was  useful.  It  was  a  stout  little 
three-roc >med  stone  cabin  with  walls  almost  two  feet 
thick,  sheltered  on  the  north  by  a  high  ridge  and  on  the 
west  by  a  patch  of  thin  young  timber,  with  a  wide  out 
look  to  the  eastward,  and  the  wooded  range  on  the 
south  hiding  the  Santa  Fe  Trail.  Whatever  Lamond 
undertook  he  never  left  half  done.  He  had  built  in  cup 
boards  and  fixed  pantry  shelves.  In  the  corner  of  the 
small  living-room  he  had  made  an  old-fashioned  settle, 
a  cozy  and  comfortable  thing,  giving  the  room  a  home 
like  feature.  He  had  walled  the  tiny  cellar  and  spread 
the  bottom  with  rough  flat  stones  brought  from  the  shelv 
ing  ledges  of  the  ravine.  On  the  south  a  quaint  little 
stone-floored  porch,  with  broad  roof  held  up  by  sup 
ports  of  rough  masonry,  made  a  picturesque  entrance  to 

39 


40  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  dwelling.  Between  the  house  and  the  stables  ran  a 
rough  stone  pathway.  At  the  well-curb,  half  way 
between  the  two,  was  a  trellis  ready  for  next  season's 
vines.  Around  the  house  the  English  ivy  had  already 
taken  root  and  begun  its  slow  growth  upon  the  stone 
walls  and  about  the  porch  pillars.  In  time  it  would 
become  a  hardy,  permanent  decoration  in  place  of  the 
abundant  wealth  of  morning-glory  vines  which  perish 
year  by  year. 

Only  one  dwelling  could  be  seen  from  this  spot  in 
that  autumn  time ;  the  mere  top  of  Mark's  "  Darrarat " 
stood  up  in  the  east  above  a  rolling  bit  of  prairie  not  yet 
taken  up  by  homesteaders. 

The  October  moonlight  silvered  all  the  stones,  and 
turned  to  deepest  purple  every  green  leaf  and  every 
shadow  playing  about  the  sheltered  place.  Elliot  Dar- 
row  whistling  an  old  love  tune,  came  over  the  prairie 
with  swinging  step,  straight  as  the  crow  flies,  from  the 
Darrow  homestead,  bearing  down  upon  the  little  stone 
cabin  of  David  Lamond.  He  halted  at  the  vine-decked 
porch  long  enough  to  catch  the  lacey  play  of  light  and 
shade  across  the  stone  floor.  He  was  still  whistling 
softly,  although  he  did  not  know  it,  and  his  footstep 
was  lighter  on  the  stones  before  the  doorway.  His  dark 
eyes  were  full  of  tender  light,  and  the  quiet  beauty  of 
the  evening  held  him  in  its  spell. 

"Listen,  Beth,  there  is  somebody  outside."  Mrs. 
Lamond  spoke  in  a  low  tone.  She  had  a  quick  ear  for 
sounds,  and  the  stillness  of  the  prairie  in  its  quiet  moods 
frightened  her,  just  as  its  every  voice  in  its  echoing 
moments  disturbed  her.  "I'm  sure  I  heard  somebody 
outside." 

"  Yes,  but  it 's  somebody  whistling.  I  'm  never  afraid 
of  anybody  who  whistles  as  he  comes,"  Beth  answered. 


IN    THE    EVENING    TIME  41 

Through  the  deep  casemented  window  she  caught  sight 
of  Elliot  standing  on  the  step. 

"I  never  knew  you  to  be  afraid  of  any  living  thing, 
Beth,  dear." 

"Well,  mother,  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  dead  thing,  for 
where's  the  use  to  be?  "  And  Beth  opened  the  door. 

To  the  young  man  standing  outside,  the  picture  framed 
before  him  v/as  as  a  dream  of  things  lovely.  In  the  dark 
ened  doorway,  with  the  moonbeams  falling  about  her, 
Beth  Lamond's  fair  face  made  cameo  outlines,  faintly 
pink  and  white,  on  the  indefinite  drapery  of  purple 
shadows. 

"  Good  evening,  Elliot ;  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  for  mother 
and  I  are  alone."  Beth  held  the  door  open. 

"  Good  evening,  Beth ;  good  evening,  Mrs.  Lamond." 

Elliot  hesitated  at  the  entrance  of  the  dimly  lighted 
room,  and  Beth  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  to  guide  him. 

"Here's  a  chair.  Mother  doesn't  like  a  light  when 
father  is  away.  I  '11  get  the  candles." 

She  led  him  in  and,  seating  him  in  her  father's  big 
armed  chair  in  the  dusky  corner,  turned  to  get  the  can 
dles. 

"  Don't  get  them  for  me,  Beth,"  Elliot  said ;  "  I  like 
this  light  best.  Such  a  grand  evening  as  it  is!  I  never 
saw  anything  like  the  prairie  moonlight." 

Beth  sat  down  on  the  old-fashioned  settle,  where  the 
silvery  beams  streaming  through  the  window  fell  on  her 
golden  hair.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  lustrous,  and  her 
easy  pose  and  utter  lack  of  affectation  made  her  uncon 
scious  of  her  charm.  Something  in  all  this  was  exqui 
sitely  near  to  pain  for  the  boy  who  sat  in  the  shadows 
looking  at  her.  For  there  leaped  up  in  his  heart  a  man's 
first  understanding  of  love.  His  mind  swept  back  over 
the  afternoon  in  the  woods,  and  set  a  new  picture  before 


42  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

him.  He  was  glad  the  candles  were  not  lighted,  glad 
even  that  it  was  Beth  and  not  himself  sitting  where  the 
moonbeams  fell  clearest.  Half  consciously  he  pushed  his 
own  chair  into  the  deeper  shade.  He  did  not  know  why 
he  hardly  wanted  to  trust  his  own  voice  then,  and  much 
less  did  he  want  Beth's  clear  gray  eyes  looking  straight 
at  him. 

"Did  you  meet  Mr.  Lamond  and  that  Indian,  or  had 
they  gotten  to  your  house  before  you  left  home?"  Mrs. 
Lamond  asked,  anxiously. 

"I  didn't  see  anybody;  I  came  straight  across  the 
prairie.  They  must  have  followed  the  Trail.  What 
Indian  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Lamond?" 

"Oh,  Elliot,"  cried  Beth,  "an  Indian  came  here  just 
after  dark  and  asked  father  to  go  with  him  to  your 
house.  Father  says  he  is  all  right,  a  Delaware  from  the 
reservation  north  of  Lawrence.  Mother  is  afraid  he'll 
do  some  harm  to  father,  but  I  '11  risk  it.  I  'm  never  afraid 
for  father." 

"No,  nor  for  anybody  else,"  Mrs.  Lamond  declared. 
"  You  can't  scare  her,  Elliot ;  she  fits  the  West  all  right." 

Beth  laughed,  and,  leaning  back  on  the  settle  with  her 
hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  turned  her  face  full  in 
the  light. 

"  I  guess  I  'm  a  Lamond  all  right.  If  I  were  a  man  I  'd 
feel  like  I  had  to  fight  for  my  country.  Wouldn't  you, 
Elliot?" 

"  Oh,  Beth,  I  hope  none  of  the  men  will  ever  need  to 
fight,"  cried  her  mother. 

"  So  do  I,"  asserted  Beth ;  "  but  if  there  was  need  for 
them  you  would  do  it,  of  course." 

There  was  a  martial  tone  in  the  girl's  voice.  In  the 
dusk  Elliot  gripped  hard  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  In 


IN    THE    EVENING    TIME  43 

his  Quaker  home  peace  and  not  war  had  been  his  life 
time  ideal. 

"  Would  you  want  me  to  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What 's  that  noise,  I  wonder?  Listen  I "  Mrs.  Lamond 
prevented  Beth's  answer. 

Elliot  rose  quickly. 

"  It  is  outside,  at  the  stables,  maybe ;  I  '11  go  and  see," 
he  said. 

"  I  '11  go,  too,"  Beth  declared. 

"Let  me  get  a  light  first,"  Mrs.  Lamond  urged;  but 
the  young  folks  needed  no  light. 

"Just  the  black  horse  slipped  his  halter,"  Elliot  an 
nounced  from  inside  the  dark  stable. 

"Just  Pluto's  halter  off,  mother,"  Beth  called  to  Mrs. 
Lamond,  waiting  outside  the  kitchen  house. 

Satisfied,  the  mother  went  inside  and  closed  the  door. 
As  the  young  people  came  slowly  up  the  stone  walk, 
Elliot's  hand  rested  lightly  on  Beth's  arm.  They  stopped 
at  the  well  for  a  drink  as  if  they  were  really  thirsty,  and 
then  by  common  impulse  they  passed  the  kitchen  door 
and  came  to  the  front  of  the  house  to  enter.  The  night 
was  irresistible,  and  to  these  two  in  the  dawning  moment 
of  manhood  and  womanhood  the  world  wore  the  old,  old 
charm  of  Eden  made  new.  An  Eden  no  less  idyllic  in  a 
lonely  prairie  on  the  frontier  than  in  the  well-groomed 
city  park  just  beside  the  pathway  of  the  crowd. 

" Must  we  go  in  right  away?"  Elliot  asked. 

"N-no,  I  think  mother  won't  be  lonesome  if  we  are 
out  here.  We  are  so  near  her.  I'm  so  glad  you  came 
to-night." 

Beth's  voice  was  gentle  now,  without  the  ring  of  cour 
age  it  had  held  when  she  talked  of  war  and  a  man's 
fighting  duty. 


44  AWALLOFMEN 

"I'm  glad,  too;  I'm  always  glad  to  come,"  Elliot 
answered. 

"  Next  year  there  will  be  more  settlers  here  and  it  will 
not  be  quite  so  lonely  for  her.  Do  you  hope  there  will 
be?"  Beth  queried. 

"  It  depends  on  who  they  are  and  why  they  come.  We 
may  wish  them  back  East,  and  that  we  had  our  prairie  all 
to  ourselves  again,"  Elliot  replied. 

"What  a  change  one  year  can  bring,"  Beth  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  Are  n't  you  more  than  a  year  older  than 
you  were  last  October  in  Indiana,  Elliot?" 

Elliot  caught  his  breath.  It  seemed  years  even  since 
that  idle  afternoon  when  the  children  of  three  settlers' 
families  had  gone  to  search  for  nuts  in  the  woods,  and 
three  of  these  children  had  sat  above  the  Vinland  Valley 
and  watched  the  Trail  below. 

For  six  months  these  young  people  had  known  each 
other,  had  seen  much  of  each  other,  for  settlers  were 
few  and  companionship  dear.  They  had  made  much  of 
the  time,  and  fought  back  the  loneliness  and  homesick 
ness  of  the  days  with  all  manner  of  pastimes  that  life 
in  this  new  land  could  offer.  And  no  one  as  yet  had 
thought  of  anything  but  the  pleasure  of  companionship. 
And  now  to-night,  all  suddenly  and  unbidden,  had  a 
man's  soul  wakened  in  a  boy,  and  the  joy  of  it  was  more 
like  pain  than  gladness. 

"  Here  is  the  place  to  see  the  real  moon.  I  sit  out 
here  every  evening  and  watch  and  wait  for  what  never 
comes." 

Beth  spoke  half  sadly  and  half  dreamily.  They  were 
sitting  on  the  stone  step  of  the  porch,  looking  out  to  the 
eastward.  The  dark  woodland  to  the  south  was  very 
black  against  that  silvery  light,  and  the  West  was  all 
light  and  shade  intermingled. 


IN    THE    EVENING    TIME  45 

"What  do  you  want  to  come,  Beth?  " 

"  Oh,  people,  people.    This  is  a  lonely  country." 

"  Would  you  go  back  East  if  you  could  ?  " 
"  Would  I,  not?  "  Beth  was  not  dreaming  now.  "  Some 
thing  out  here  grips  me  and  holds  me.  I'd  love  to  see 
the  old  home  and  the  Pennsylvania  mountains,  and  the 
clear,  sweet  water  of  the  brooks  there.  They  are  not 
like  the  Wakarusa,  nor  that  little  feeder  of  the  Hole  in 
the  Rock.  It  is  all  dear  to  me,  but,  oh,  Elliot,  I  only 
want  to  see  it.  Lonely  as  it  is  here,  there  is  —  what? 
Hope,  everywhere." 

Elliot  sat  silent  where  the  shadow  of  the  rough  stone 
pillar  hid  his  face. 

"  Of  course,"  Beth  went  on,  "  it  must  have  been  the 
same  in  Pennsylvania,  when  Penn  and  those  good  old 
Quakers  in  knee  breeches  and  long  queues  of  hair  were 
making  good  real  estate  deals  for  brass  beads  and  fancy 
pipes  in  their  days  of  doing  things  east  of  the  Blue 
Ridge." 

Elliot  laughed  at  Beth's  picture. 

"  You  are  hard  on  the  Quakers,  Beth.  We  are  n't  such 
a  bad  lot." 

"  Oh,  all  the  East  has  the  same  sameness  now.  Every 
morning  out  here  there 's  a  new  world  to  conquer.  Back 
East,  with  all  the  nice,  dear  things  there,  and  they  are 
dear,  the  days  are  like  rows  of  pins  in  a  pin  paper.  You 
take  one  out  and  there's  only  a  little  space  and  two  little 
holes,  and  the  next  and  the  next  are  like  those  before  the 
little  space  and  the  holes." 

"And  what  of  one  day's  work  here  in  the  West?" 
asked  the  boy,  pulling  leaves  from  the  morning-glory 
vines,  and  stripping  the  green  tissue  of  threads,  looking 
all  the  while  straight  before  him. 

"Oh,  one  day  in  Kansas  is  like  a  rent,  a  sword  cut; 


46  AWALLOFMEN 

the  binding  up  of  wounds,  the  shifting  of  all  settled  things 
to  make  the  days  afterward  follow  another  pattern." 

"  Is  that  true  of  to-day?  " 

Beth  did  not  note  the  deep  voice,  nor  the  gentle  tone, 
as  Elliot  spoke.  Even  the  tender  look  of  the  dark  eyes 
in  the  shadows  was  something  recalled  afterward,  but 
unheeded  now.  What  she  did  note  almost  for  the  first 
time,  for  comradeship  is  careless  of  fine  lines,  and  remem 
bered  always  when  she  first  had  known  it,  was  the  manly 
strength  and  beauty  of  the  face  before  her. 

"To-day?"  she  mused.  "Yes,  to-day  is  altogether  a 
new  day,  and  to-morrow,  maybe  all  the  days,  must  be  dif 
ferent  for  it  here." 

Beth  did  not  know  how  like  a  white  morning-glory  her 
white  face  above  her  dark  dress  seemed  at  that  moment 
as  she  leaned  among  the  moonlit  vines,  and  pushed  her 
golden  hair  away  from  her  forehead. 

"  Of  course,  we  went  nutting  and  did  n't  get  any. 
That 's  not  new,  for  we  have  all  been  off  together  in  the 
ravine,  and  in  the  woods,  and  over  on  the  East  Prairie, 
where  the  plum  bushes  grow.  But  there  was  something 
about  that  stranger  who  promised  us  lots  of  trouble. 
He  '11  turn  up  again,  sure." 

"  He  has  already.  He  is  up  at  our  house  now,  and 
Beth,  he  is  the  rabidest  hater  of  slavery  I  ever  saw.  The 
Squatter  rule  will  win  out  if  his  kind  come  often.  He  '11 
do  to  those  Southern  voters  who  crowded  into  Kansas 
to  control  our  elections  last  Spring  exactly  what  they 
would  do  to  us.  Your  father  will  like  him,  for  he  is  a 
fighter,  not  a  boaster,  a  real  bulldog  at  the  job,  now 
mark  me." 

"  Father  says  we  '11  need  fighters  here,  all  we  can  get. 
This  is  a  poor  country  for  cowards,  he  says,  and  every 
man  will  be  put  to  the  test.  Maybe  every  woman,  too." 


IN    THE    EVENING    TIME  47 

Then  in  a  light  tone,  "  I  wonder  where  I  '11  be.  Not  back 
East  visiting  relatives,  I  hope.  I  want  to  be  right  here." 

"  Oh,  Beth,  that's  what  that  stranger  up  at  our  house 
—  John  Brown,  that's  his  name  here  at  least  —  said 
to-night." 

"  I  told  you  every  day  changed  the  thing,  like  turning 
the  little  kaleidoscope  on  my  grandmother's  parlor  table 
back  in  the  Alleghanies.  This  man  will  put  something 
new  into  Kansas." 

"And  the  rest  of  the  day? "  queried  Elliot. 

"  Yes,  plenty  of  the  rest.  There  is  father's  Indian  and 
Mark's  scare  down  the  Trail." 

"  Mark's  fish  story.  If  he  don't  see  real  things  he 
makes  them  out  of  stone  and  sumac  leaves,  Mark  does," 
and  Elliot  laughed. 

"Elliot,"  Beth  said  gravely,  "I'm  no  second  sighter, 
but  I  somehow  felt  troubled  when  Mark  was  talking  to 
that  man  to-day.  Just  a  tiny  bit  uneasy  for  Mark." 

"  Save  yourself  the  strength.  He 's  all  right.  Just  too 
quick  to  speak  and  rash  to  act.  He's  the  odd  sheep  of 
the  Darrow  fold.  But  he  '11  come  out  all  right  if  he  don't 
let  his  rashness  upset  him." 

"That's  the  very  thing  I  thought  to-day.  He  is  so 
impulsive  and  such  a  capital  boy.  I'm  afraid  he  may  — 
oh  —  I  don't  know  what."  Beth  laughed  at  herself. 

"  Well,  let  him  go.  The  army  of  the  King  could  n't  stop 
him  anyhow.  I  '11  try  to  keep  a  good  example  before  him 
in  myself."  Then  more  seriously,  Elliot  asked,  "Was 
that  all  of  this  day  to  make  it  different  ?  " 

Beth  looked  away  across  the  prairies,  shimmering  now 
in  a  silver  mist,  fine  as  finest  mesh  of  woven  cobweb. 
The  soft  south  wind  lifted  the  little  curls  about  her 
temples,  and  all  unconsciously  the  witchery  of  the  night 
seemed  to  need  her  to  complete  its  spell. 


48  AWALLOFMEN 

"Yes,"  she  said,  slowly;  "there  was  that  waiting  up 
on  the  bluff  for  our  fathers,  not  quite  like  ever  before,  for 
there  was  such  an  uncertainty  about  it  all,  and  the  three 
men  not  being  together,  and  Craig  was  n't  quite  like  him 
self,  was  he?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Elliot  answered  quietly. 

"  Craig  is  such  a  fine  fellow.  Father  likes  him.  Father 
doesn't  like  Colonel  Penwin  at  all,  but  he  thinks  Craig 
is  all  right.  Says  he'll  come  through  in  spite  of  his 
father ;  and  then  you  know  Craig  is  a  fighter,  and  the  old 
Scotch  Lamond  blood  always  recognizes  a  good  soldier 
anywhere." 

"And  I'm  not  a  soldier.  Beth,  did  that  make  any 
difference  in  the  day?" 

"Oh,  you're  all  right,  Elliot.  I  said  father  wants 
everybody  to  be  a  soldier.  Mother  doesn't  want  any 
body  to  be,  see?" 

"And  you,  Beth?" 

In  the  shadows  the  set  face  and  low  voice  gave  no  hint 
to  the  girl  that  a  heart  agony  cried  out  where  it  could 
not  be  heard. 

"  I,  oh,  how  do  I  know  what  I  want  till  the  time  comes? 
Would  n't  Craig  look  fine  at  the  head  of  a  company  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  never  saw  him  there." 

"  Well,  but  Elliot,  Colonel  Penwin  is  splendid  on  horse 
back,  don't  you  think  he  is?  " 

"Yes,  from  the  outside;  I  don't  know  how  he  looks 
inside,  where  the  real  man  lives." 

"Elliot  Darrow,  you  are  not  the  same  boy  to-night. 
Is  the  day  changing  all  of  us?  What's  the  matter?" 

She  stood  up  now  and  leaned  against  the  stone  post. 
Elliot  rose  from  his  seat. 

"Are  you  the  same,  really  and  truly  the  same  girl, 
Beth?"  Beth  did  not  catch  the  pleading  in  his  tone. 


IN     THE     EVENING    TIME  49 

"Am  I  not?  Men  may  come  and  men  may  go,  but 
I "  —  she  did  not  finish,  for  Elliot  had  put  both  hands  a 
moment  on  her  shoulders. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Beth." 

"  Would  n't  what?"  asked  Beth ;  "  go  on  forever,  or  stay 
here  forever.  That  was  what  I  meant  to  say." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  wish."  Elliot  folded  his  arms 
and  turned  his  face  away. 

"  I  know  what  I  wish,  Elliot."  Winsomely  sweet  was 
her  girlish  face,  and  a  gentleness  enveloped  her. 

"What  do  you  wish?" 

"I  wish  the  days  might,  some  of  them,  stay  just  like 
pins  in  a  row,  and  some  people  would  not  change." 

"  But  you  want  Craig  to  go  on  with  the  new  days, 
Beth." 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes ;  but  he  is  Craig ;  I  don't  want  everybody 
to.  I  don't  want  you  to,  Elliot." 

"You  like  Craig  better  for  the  change?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  will  grow  with  the  changing  years.  He 
will  be  a  fine  man,  father  says;  so  will  Mark  change; 
but  I  don't  want  to  think  of  you  any  differently  than 
right  now." 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  a  smile  he  never  forgot.  "I 
want  you  to  be  just  the  same  Elliot." 

"  I  cannot  be,  Beth.  The  new  day  may  find  me  farthest 
of  all  of  us  from  yesterday.  I  must  go  now.  Good 
night." 

"Won't  you  stay  till  father  comes?" 

It  was  Elliot's  turn  to  face  the  light  now,  and  there 
was  small  need  for  the  moon  to  soften  any  harsh  lines, 
for  the  boy,  entirely  forgetful  of  himself,  would  have 
given  joy  to  an  artist  at  that  moment.  The  sturdy  young 
form,  the  shapely  head,  the  heavy  dark  hair  and  eyes 
with  their  wonderful  depths  of  coloring,  the  full  red  lips 


50  AWALLOFMEN 

that  could  smile  so  winningly,  and,  above  this,  the  earn 
est,  manly  spirit  that  belonged  always  to  this  young 
Quaker,  all  combined  to  make  their  own  model  a  girl 
might  not  forget.  He  hesitated  at  Beth's  question,  then 
suddenly  he  took  her  hand,  took  both  her  hands,  for  just 
one  moment.  The  moon  slipped  behind  some  silvery 
curtain  hung  up  on  purpose  for  her  convenience,  and  in 
that  shadow-filled  stillness,  forgetful,  unheeding,  Elliot 
Darrow  left  a  kiss  on  warm  red  lips,  the  first  love  kiss 
Beth's  lips  had  ever  known. 

A  burst  of  radiant  glory  from  the  re-illumined  sky,  the 
broad  prairie  smiling  serenely  under  the  beneficence  of 
the  night's  rare  loveliness,  the  tender  caresses  of  the 
wandering  south  breeze,  the  swing  of  light  and  shadow 
across  a  far  moonlit  plain;  and  a  girl  caught  unawares 
with  love's  first  token,  half  happy  and  more  than  half 
angry,  and  altogether  sorrowful  for  what  she  could  not 
understand  nor  value ;  and  hurrying  away  across  the  dim 
prairie,  a  young  man  with  a  heart  as  lonely  as  the  wide 
lonely  lands  about  him.  These  things  made  the  ending 
of  one  October  day  in  Kansas.  A  day  that  should  never 
more  see  its  counterparts  set  in  rows  like  pins  in  a  pin 
paper. 


CHAPTER    V 

ANOTHER    DAY    THAT    WAS     DIF 
FERENT 

God  only  knows  what  fate  the  coming  morrow, 

Holds  in  its  close-shut  hand — 
What  wave  of  joy,  what  whelming  tide  of  sorrow, 

May  flood  my  heart's  dry  land. 

—  Ellen  P.  Allerton. 

IT  was  midnight  and  the  moon  had  swung  far  toward 
the  western  horizon.  The  chill  of  autumn  filled  the 
air.  Gray  clouds  were  creeping  up  from  the  southwest, 
and  all  the  Vinland  Valley  lay  wan  and  numb  under  its 
covering  of  thin  cold  mist. 

Just  where  the  Trail  slips  out  of  the  black  woods  to 
the  open  east  prairie,  Elliot  Darrow  came  face  to  face 
with  Craig  Penwin.  Wandering  about  the  country  at 
night  alone  had  not  been  a  custom  with  either  of  the  two 
young  men.  Twenty-four  hours  before  neither  would 
have  been  embarrassed  by  the  meeting.  Into  each  young 
life  now,  the  day  whose  midnight  was  just  striking  had 
brought  fateful  events.  And  so,  all  suddenly,  these  two 
looked  at  each  other  with  more  than  the  suspicion  of 
strangers.  Craig  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Hello,  young  man.  Seems  to  me  you  are  out  pretty 
late."  Then  the  sense  of  his  own  position  checked  him. 

Elliot  had  by  inheritance  the  greater  self-control,  but 
on  this  night  the  world  seemed  to  have  turned  upside 
down  for  him.  He  wondered  later  why  he  did  not  come 
back  with  some  joke  about  being  out  to  watch  Craig,  as 

51 


52  AWALLOFMEN 

Mark  would  have  done.    As  it  was,  he  stood  motionless 
and  silent. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  speak,  if  you  are  not  ashamed 
of  yourself?  "  the  young  Southerner  continued. 

The  truth  was  that  Craig  was  desperately  ashamed  of 
his  own  action  during  the  evening,  and  it  relieved  him 
to  thrust  the  ill-will  he  held  toward  himself  on  somebody 
else.  Elliot  was  even  more  ashamed  of  himself,  and  the 
bitterness  of  it  was  that  he  was  not  alone  in  his  harsh 
judgment.  He  felt  sure  that  Beth  must  despise  him  as 
much  as  he  despised  himself.  In  the  intensity  of  youth 
his  rude  act  seemed  to  shout  after  him  so  loudly  he  could 
almost  believe  that  Craig  heard  it,  too.  And  so  he  stord 
silently  before  his  questioner,  who  presently  added : 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  what  you  have  been  up  to.  I  am 
probably  as  well  off  not  to  know  it." 

He  would  have  passed  on,  but,  prompted  by  a  mis 
chievous  teasing  spirit,  and  secure  of  himself  in  Elliot's 
evident  embarrassment,  he  stood  for  a  full  minute  look 
ing  straight  at  the  young  man.  In  that  minute  the  young 
Quaker  found  himself. 

"  Maybe  you  are  just  as  well  off  not  to  know  what  I  've 
been  up  to,  but  I  don't  mind  telling.  I  was  over  at 
Lamond's.  Mr.  Lamond  went  up  to  our  house  this  even 
ing,  and  Beth's  mother  was  lonesome  and  afraid.  I  think 
I  staid  too  long.  Mr.  Lamond  did  n't  go  home  till  late." 

All  of  which  was  true,  for  Elliot  had  gone  even  to  the 
edge  of  the  bluff  overlooking  the  whole  Vinland  Valley 
and  had  sat  on  the  log  where  Beth  and  Craig  had  sat  and 
watched  the  Trail  that  long-ago  afternoon  full  six  hours 
before.  And  he  had  seen  David  Lamond  on  the  Trail  at 
a  late  hour,  taking  care  the  while  that  Lamond  should 
not  see  him. 

"And  by  the  way,  Craig,  what  brings  you  here  so 


ANOTHERDAY  53 

late?  You  were  n't  spying  down  there,  were  you?  "  point 
ing  toward  the  Lamond  holding  hidden  beyond  the  low 
swell  of  prairie.  "  Were  you  at  our  house ?  There's  no 
place  else  to  go." 

Craig  started  suddenly,  and  retorted  angrily : 

"  I  guess  I  can  go  where  I  please,  and  take  care  of  my 
own  business." 

"Then  do  it,  and  leave  mine  alone,"  and  Elliot,  in  no 
wise  happier  than  he  had  been  before  the  meeting,  hur 
ried  away. 

Late  as  it  was,  he  found  his  mother  still  sitting  by  the 
dying  fire  in  the  hall-room. 

"Thee  is  late,  dearie,"  she  said  as  Elliot  threw  him 
self  down  on  the  hearth  beside  her.  "I  suppose  they 
wanted  thee  to  stay  till  David  got  home." 

"  No,  they  did  n't,  mother.  I  left  there  two  hours  or 
more  ago." 

"Thee  did?"  Isabel  Darrow  asked  no  questions,  but 
gently  stroked  her  son's  hair.  Presently  she  said :  "  Thee 
should  have  heard  what  I  did  to-night.  Elliot,  I  wonder 
what  the  days  hold  for  us.  There  are  troubles  ahead, 
but,"  — how  sweet  and  firm  her  voice  sounded  then  — 
"  I  do  not  fear  them.  I  hold  always  to  the  promise, '  Thou 
wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  staid  on 
Thee.'" 

Elliot  looked  up  quickly.  The  firelight  on  his  mother's 
face  just  then  gave  it  that  warm  glow  that  painters  love. 
It  was  not  alone  that  it  was  a  pretty  face,  shaded  by 
smooth,  dark  hair  waving  a  little  about  the  temples.  It 
was  the  sweetness  of  the  peace  of  mind  and  the  strength 
of  the  courageous  soul  behind  it  that  made  her  boy  spring 
up  quickly  before  his  mother.  Putting  his  arms  around 
her,  he  kissed  her  gently  on  the  forehead. 

"  Mother,  thee  is  a  wonderful  woman,"  he  said,  softly. 


54  AWALLOFMEN 

And  then  the  memory  of  that  other  kiss  swept  over  his 
mind  with  a  shame  that  was  near  to  joy,  but  a  joy  that  he 
blushed  to  own,  for  he  had  no  right  to  it,  so  he  turned 
from  her  and  went  to  his  bed. 

Meanwhile  Craig  Penwin  walked  slowly  homeward. 
The  day  had  been  a  record  marker  for  him,  and  he  wel 
comed  the  turn  of  midnight. 

"  I  wonder  what  to-morrow  will  bring  —  I  mean  to-day, 
for  it  is  past  midnight  now,"  he  mused.  "  I  'm  glad  I  'm 
from  Georgia  and  don't  have  to  eat  my  heart  out  about 
the  slavery  of  a  lot  of  lazy  niggers  that  are  better  off 
now  than  lots  of  fellows  up  in  New  England  who  get 
epileptic  every  time  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  is  men 
tioned.  I  'm  no  beast,  but  I  can't  help  my  Southern  inheri 
tance  and  training.  The  trouble  is  these  folks  here  will 
never  draw  the  line  between  my  father  and  me.  I  wish 
we  were  all  back  in  Georgia.  I  wish  father  "  —  he  stopped 
suddenly. 

In  the  uncertain  light  the  proud  face  showed  white  and 
sad,  and  the  deep  blue  eyes  were  full  of  pain. 

"  I  hate  these  Quaker  abolitionists  who  make  so  much 
trouble,  and  these  narrow-necked  Yankees.  They  drive 
us  to  crime."  There  was  a  bitterness  in  every  line  of  his 
countenance  now. 

The  path  he  was  following  led  by  a  clump  of  ever 
greens  in  whose  deep  shade  he  stopped.  He  was  fever 
ish  and  tired,  and  he  sat  on  the  carpet  of  fragrant 
pine  needles  to  rest  awhile.  In  a  patch  of  light  a  few 
feet  away  a  man  appeared  suddenly.  Pausing,  he  seemed 
to  peer  anxiously  toward  the  dark  spot  where  Craig  lay. 
Then  lifting  his  face  to  the  light,  a  groan  of  anguish 
burst  from  his  lips,  and  he  darted  away  into  the  blackness 
of  the  wooded  Trail. 

"  My  father !  In  God's  name,  what  will  this  day  bring?  " 


ANOTHER    DAY  55 

Craig  sprang  up  and  hurried  down  the  Trail  toward  the 
Penwin  homestead. 

The  warmth  of  the  early  autumn  of  yesterday  gave 
place  in  this  morning  to  a  bitter  wind  and  heavy  drizzling, 
that  would  not  be  a  downpour,  and  yet  it  penetrated 
everything  with  its  chilly  moisture.  At  the  breakfast 
table  Colonel  Penwin  smiled  genially  on  his  family.  Only 
Craig  noted  his  haggard  look  and  gray  color.  He  was 
king  of  his  household  and  his  courtesy  had  never  failed 
toward  his  own.  Back  in  Georgia  he  had  been  a  man  of 
moderate  means  but  of  luxurious  tastes.  He  owned  a 
small  plantation  and  a  dozen  slaves,  and  had  kept  a  name 
for  living  well,  with  true  Southern  hospitality.  His  wife 
had  died  at  the  birth  of  her  third  child,  Tarleton.  From 
that  time  the  control  of  the  household  had  been  in  the 
hands  of  Aunt  Crystal,  a  faithful  black  servant  whose 
life  was  bound  up  in  the  lives  of  these  three  children. 

Lucy  Penwin,  a  beautiful,  intellectual  girl,  a  sister  of 
Colonel  Penwin,  for  whom  his  daughter  Lucy  was  named, 
had  also  been  a  member  of  the  household.  Her  sudden 
death  just  before  their  coming  to  Kansas  was  the  only 
real  sorrow  the  children  had  yet  known.  They  idolized 
their  father,  and  under  the  lazy  Georgia  skies  they  would 
have  gone  on  so  worshipping  till  the  end  of  time.  They 
did  not  know  nor  question  why  he  had  seemed  suddenly 
to  upset  the  scheme  of  things  for  the  whole  family  after 
their  aunt's  death.  They  knew  only  that  in  one  balmy 
Southern  springtime  a  change  came  unannounced  into 
their  lives.  A  spirit  of  unrest,  a  sense  of  impending  ill,  a 
dull  pervading  of  calamity  already  accomplished  or  to  be 
met, —  something  they  could  not  understand  and  never 
discussed  —  marked  the  ending  of  the  first  act  in  their 
life  drama. 

Transplanted  suddenly  in  the  Kansas  Territory,  with 


56  AWALLOFMEN 

the  frontier  so  unlike  anything  they  had  ever  known, 
their  trouble-free  Southern  spirit,  combined  with  the 
thrill  and  vigor  of  the  West,  and  their  unbounded  faith 
in  their  father,  made  the  second  act  more  interesting  than 
the  first  for  them.  For  they  were  young,  and  adventure 
and  hope  and  keen  intelligence  drew  them  quickly  from 
any  homesick  longing.  Unconsciously  they  were  for  the 
first  time  beginning  to  live  their  own  independent  lives, 
to  think  for  themselves  and  act  on  their  own  judgment. 
The  frontier  exacted  this  much  from  all  who  crossed  her 
borders.  The  day  just  opening  was  to  make  them  for 
the  first  time  conscious  of  this  change  in  themselves. 

Boniface  Penwin  combined  an  explosive  impulsiveness 
with  bland  self-control,  and  he  could  not  tell  when  either 
would  be  master  of  him,  except  where  his  family  was 
concerned.  There  he  had  always  held  self-mastery.  It 
came  as  a  thunderbolt  this  morning,  then,  when  he  sud 
denly  declared: 

"  Children,  there  will  soon  be  a  dozen  families  from 
Georgia  and  as  many  from  South  Carolina  settling  round 
us.  I  want  you  to  let  the  Darrows  and  the  Lamonds 
alone  from  this  time.  You  hear?" 

The  question  was  thundered  out  in  a  tone  the  children 
had  never  heard  him  use  to  them  before.  The  command 
had  followed  the  chatter  of  Lucy  and  Tarleton,  who  were 
rehearsing  the  doings  of  the  day  before  in  the  woods. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,  and  you  must  understand  it. 
Every  day  is  bringing  us  nearer  to  a  settlement  of  things 
in  this  Territory,  and  we  must  be  ready  without  being 
tangled  up  with  anybody.  There  is  no  knowing  what 
may  happen  here." 

He  rose  and  hurried  from  the  room.  A  few  minutes 
later  they  saw  him  ride  furiously  away  on  the  red  roan 
horse  of  his  recent  barter. 


ANOTHER    DAY  57 

"  You  will  remember  what  your  father  has  said,"  Aunt 
Crystal  warned  them  gently,  and  having  given  the 
admonition  she  went  to  her  household  duties. 

The  children  looked  at  one  another  silently.  A  great 
gulf  seemed  to  open  suddenly  before  them.  Through 
the  half-open  door  the  sharp  autumn  wind  blew  across 
the  room.  It  set  the  young  blood  a-tingle  with  its  snappy 
breath. 

"Will  you  remember,  Lucy?"  queried  Craig. 

"Will  you?"  she  returned. 

"And  will  you,  Tarley?"  Craig  turned  to  his  little 
brother. 

" No,  I  will  not"  Tarleton  answered,  defiantly,  and 
Craig  offered  no  reproof. 

"  I  can  let  the  Darrows  alone,"  he  said. 

"  I  '11  stick  to  Joe,"  Tarley  declared,  stoutly. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  give  up  anybody,  Beth  nor  Elliot  nor 
Joe  —  nor  Mark,"  and  pretty  Lucy's  eyes  flashed  with 
something  of  her  father's  spirit.  "What  ails  papa,  I 
wonder.  He  looked  awfully  mad." 

Craig  recalled  the  scene  in  the  wood,  and  his  heart  was 
heavy.  He  was  only  an  untried  boy  himself,  but  a  boy 
with  a  dawning  sense  of  personal  demands  and  duties. 

"  Lucy  and  Tarley,  do  you  know  what  you  are  say 
ing?"  he  asked.  "There  is  something  back  of  this  or 
papa  would  n't  have  said  it." 

"I  wish  we  had  never  come  from  Georgia."  Lucy's 
eyes  were  swimming  in  tears  and  Tarleton  sniffled  a 
little  homesick  sniffle. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  back  now?  "  Craig  questioned. 

"  No,  sir."    Tarley  braced  up. 

"  Not  now.  It  would  n't  be  quite  the  same  now,  would 
it?"  and  Lucy  also  caught  the  spirit. 

"What  was  it  that  man  said  yesterday  about  trouble, 


58  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Lucy?  It  seems  to  be  getting  here.  Let 's  wait  and  see 
what  happens.  Papa  may  change  his  mind.  Nasty  day 
out.  Lucy,  go  help  Aunt  Crystal.  Tarley,  we've  got  to 
cut  up  that  wood  some  nigger  ought  to  be  cutting  for  us." 

The  children  separated  for  the  morning,  unconscious 
that  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives  each  was  thinking 
and  choosing  independently. 

By  noon  the  drizzle  was  a  rain.  By  mid-afternoon  it 
was  a  steady  downpour,  and  the  darkness  of  evening 
came  early,  even  for  October.  Beth  Lamond  sat  alone 
by  the  stone  fireplace  in  the  little  living-room.  She 
had  laid  aside  her  work  and  was  gazing  into  the  heart 
of  the  red  coals.  Her  golden  hair  drooped  about  her 
face,  and  called  to  contrast  the  warm,  dark-red  dress  with 
the  little  white  band  of  collar  about  her  throat. 

All  day  her  mind  had  held  only  one  thing:  the  fairy 
land  of  moonlight,  the  gentle  spell  of  companionship,  the 
well-built  frame  and  handsome  face  and  deep  voice  of 
Elliot  Darrow,  the  sudden  dimness,  the  silvery  pointed 
shadows  —  and  then  —  her  soul  rebelled  at  further 
thought.  And  yet,  unbidden,  the  picture  repeated  itself 
to  the  same  vanishing  point,  was  destroyed  and  built 
up  again.  And  underneath  it  all,  deep  hidden,  was  a  hap 
piness,  that  she  did  not  want  to  give  up.  A  sacred 
possession,  hers  and  hers  alone. 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  her.  It  might  be  Elliot. 
How  could  she  meet  him?  Then  a  foolish  fear  seized 
her.  She  had  never  been  afraid  before,  but  now  she  was 
alone  and  in  a  lonely  place.  She  half  hoped  it  might  be 
Elliot.  The  knock  sounded  again,  gentle  but  insistent. 
Beth  laughed  at  her  fear  of  such  a  knock,  and,  still  smil 
ing,  opened  the  door.  Craig  Penwin,  with  garments  drip 
ping,  stood  outside  in  the  cold  gloom.  With  the  warm 
firelight  for  a  background,  Beth  seemed  to  him  an  ideal 


ANOTHERDAY  59 

home  spirit  smiling  a  welcome.  "  Golden-haired  women 
ought  always  to  wear  red  on  dark,  rainy  nights,"  was 
what  the  young  man  thought.  What  he  said  was  only  to 
inquire : 

"Are  you  alone?" 

"  Yes,"  Beth  said.  "  Mother  and  father  have  gone  over 
to  Wren's,  the  settlers  who  built  that  cabin  by  the  edge 
of  the  ravine  last  August.  He  had  an  accident  this 
morning,  and  just  by  chance  we  got  the  word  in  time  to 
help  them.  He's  a  daring  little  Yankee.  This  is  the 
second  time  he's  been  hurt  in  two  months." 

"  Too  bad ! "  Craig  said,  and  then  lapsed  into  silence. 

"What's  the  matter,  Craig?"  Beth  asked  suddenly. 
"Are  you  changing,  too, —  with  the  weather,  or  old 
age?"' 

Craig  looked  up  quickly.  Why  need  a  girl,  a  fair-faced 
girl  with  a  red  dress  and  golden  hair,  be  so  provokingly 
sweet  and  comfortable  looking  when  the  firelight  is 
warm  and  all  outside  is  chill  and  dripping  wet? 

Beth's  eyes  were  bright  and  full  of  hope ;  and  —  hearts 
were  young  and  companionship  dear. 

"Beth,  I  came  over  to  tell  you  something,"  Craig 
began  bravely.  "  Something  my  father  said  this  morn 
ing," —  he  hesitated  and  Beth  looked  up  with  eager 
interest.  Craig  was  worth  looking  at  just  then,  for  he 
was  at  his  best  self. 

"You  know,  you  must  know,  that  Georgia  and  Penn 
sylvania  are  very  far  apart,  and  men  bred  in  them  can 
not  think  alike,  especially  about  slave-holding  and  all 
that." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  and  Beth  smiled.  "  I  think  I  know, 
Craig,  just  exactly  what  your  father  said,  because  he's 
just  about  as  set  in  his  views  as  my  blessed  old  papa,  and 
when  you  say  'as  set  as  a  Scotchman,'  you've  said  the 


60  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

last  word  on  'setness.'  Colonel  Penwin  said  he  hadn't 
any  use  for  David  Lamond's  foolish  sentiments,  would  n't 
stand  for  them,  wished  no  more  of  his  kind  would  ever 
cross  the  border  into  Kansas.  I  know  the  whole  thing. 
Don't  tell  me  any  more.  It  doesn't  affect  us,  does  it?" 

"But,  Beth,  there's  more  I  want  to  say — '* 

"  No  there  is  n't,"  Beth  interrupted.  "  Your  father  is 
an  awfully  fine-looking  man." 

"  Hm-m ! "  Craig  made  a  mock  courtesy. 

"  Oh,  Tarley  looks  just  like  him ;  you  don't,  and  you  're 
not  like  him,  either,  now  are  you?  " 

Her  deep  gray  eyes  held  him,  and  with  a  half-serious, 
half-joking  tone  she  went  on. 

"  Really,  Craig,  Georgia  and  Pennsylvania  may  be  far 
apart,  but  can't  the  lines  run  from  them  straight  to  Kan 
sas  and  meet  here.  I  had  a  little  geometry  in  the  acad 
emy  last  winter." 

"  No,  they  will  never  meet  here.  Not  from  those  start 
ing  points,"  Craig  said,  gravely. 

"Well,  let  them  run  parallel.  It  will  save  a  fuss, 
maybe,  and  it  does  n't  concern  us.  Mother  says  we  chil 
dren  must  not  be  anything,  nor  from  anywhere  but  just 
here." 

"You  don't  know  father,  Beth." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to,  if  he  is  like  Daddy  Lamond. 
Let 's  talk  about  something  else,"  and  Beth  settled  down 
by  the  fireside  with  a  serene  face.  "  I  'm  glad  you  came 
this  evening,  for  I  was  lonely,  and  —  for  something  else, 
too." 

"  What  else?  "    Craig  did  not  look  at  her  at  all. 

"  Oh,  because  I  wanted  to  see  you.  Can't  I  want  to  see 
you?  Boys  and  girls  aren't  so  common  on  these  lonely 
prairies.  I  'd  be  glad  to  see — just  anybody,  sometimes." 

"  Even  me,"  Craig  suggested. 


ANOTHER    DAY  61 

"  Yes,  even  you.  And  then  you  are  really  interesting, 
up  to  things,  you  know.  You  keep  me  guessing." 

"  Well,  guess  what  I  want  to  say  now  1 " 

It  was  a  dangerous  question  for  the  young  man,  for 
now  he  turned  and  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  the 
girl.  A  blush  swept  her  fair  cheek,  and,  hastily  pushing 
back  the  curly  tresses  from  her  forehead,  she  hesitated 
a  moment. 

"  Oh,  you  guess  who  was  here  last  night.  You  never 
could,  I  know."  She  was  thinking  of  the  Indian. 

"I  know  without  guessing."  Craig's  lips  stiffened. 
"  It  was  Elliot  Darrow." 

"  How  do  you  know?  I  wasn't  thinking  of  him,"  Beth 
cried. 

"He  told  me  so  himself." 

Craig  wished  he  could  have  understood  the  expression 
of  Beth's  face  at  that  moment. 

A  sense  of  loss,  the  slipping  away  of  some  sacred 
thing,  the  common  cheapness  of  what  had  been  to  her  a 
dear,  priceless  possession,  revealed  to  the  girl  with  cruel 
suddenness  how  much  in  one  short  day  she  had  enshrined 
the  memory  of  the  night  before.  Perhaps  girls  have  more 
self-control  than  the  young  men  who  study  them.  Beth 
sat  half  smiling,  looking  into  the  fire.  It  was  only  that 
Craig's  quick  eye  had  caught  the  strange,  fleeting  expres 
sion, —  he  could  not  have  said  what  it  meant. 

"What  else  did  Elliot  say?"  she  asked. 

"  He  said  I  'd  be  just  as  well  off  not  to  know  what  he 
had  been  up  to,  but  he  didn't  mind  telling  me.  He  also 
said  he  thought  he  had  staid  too  long.  I  would  n't  have 
said  that,  Beth,  if  I  had  been  here  instead  of  Elliot." 

How  could  the  girl  know  that  Craig  was  thinking  only 
of  himself ;  of  his  father's  command  and  passionate  anger ; 
of  his  own  dread  of  whatever  might  have  befallen  to  so 


62  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

disturb  that  father  to  make  him  wander  in  the  woods 
at  midnight  and  groan  in  very  agony  of  soul.  And  all 
the  while  before  him  was  this  sweet-browed  girl,  grown 
suddenly  so  different  to  him  from  the  Beth  Lamond  of 
all  the  Kansas  summer  time,  ending  now  in  this  cold, 
dreary  rain.  The  day  had  been  ages  long,  and  had 
brought  such  a  change  with  its  hours ;  small  wonder  that 
he  gave  little  thought  just  now  to  the  young  man  between 
himself  and  whom  there  had  never  been  the  basis  of  a 
lasting  friendship.  He  could  have  dropped  Elliot  Dar- 
row  out  of  his  life  anywhere  without  feeling  the  loss. 
Not  so  this  friendship  for  a  winsome,  jolly  girl-com 
panion.  Oh,  the  day  was  very  different  from  any  his  life 
had  ever  known. 

A  step  on  the  stone  porch  floor,  a  knocking,  and  Elliot 
Darrow  faced  Beth  at  the  open  door. 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  Your  mother  wanted  me  to 
stop  on  the  way  home  and  tell  you  she  will  stay  all  night 
at  Wren's.  Your  father  will  be  here  soon." 

Elliot  had  meant  to  say  something  more.  He  had 
expected  to  find  Beth  alone,  and  he  meant  to  tell  her 
frankly  how  miserable  his  act  of  the  night  before  had 
made  him;  had  meant  to  ask  her  forgiveness  and  to 
assure  her  he  was  not  the  rude  fellow  she  must  think 
him  to  be.  The  nearer  he  came  to  the  Lamond  home 
the  happier  he  grew,  with  the  consciousness  of  his  good 
purpose,  with  hope  whispering  her  own  secrets  in  his  ear. 

Craig  Penwin,  standing  by  the  fireside,  saw  Beth's 
hand  tremble  on  the  latch  and  noted  Elliot's  white  face, 
from  which  the  color  had  swept  back. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  Will  you  come  in?  "  Beth 
managed  to  say.  Her  heart  was  full  of  shame  and  anger 
as  she  recalled  Craig's  report  of  what  Elliot  had  said, 
and  she  spoke  coldly. 


ANOTHERDAY  63 

"No,  you  have  company.  You  will  not  need  me. 
Good-night."  He  spoke  in  low  tone,  which  Craig  could 
not  catch,  and  passed  quickly  out  into  the  dark  and  wet. 

At  that  moment  Craig  Penwin  knew  the  bitterest  stab 
that  comes  to  the  heart  of  youth,  the  stab  of  jealousy. 

"  So  he  won't  come  in.  I  can  give  him  up,  all  right,  but 
I  Ve  got  to  get  home  now.  Some  other  day  must  settle 
things  for  me,"  so  Craig  thought  as  he  took  up  his  hat. 

"Must  you  go,  too,  Craig?"  There  was  a  hint  of 
pleading  in  the  girl's  tone,  for  she  did  not  want  to  be 
alone  just  then. 

"I  must,  Elizabeth,"  Craig  spoke,  playfully,  but  there 
was  a  soft  light  in  his  deep,  blue  eyes.  "Some  other 
time  I'll  tell  you  what  father  said.  This  has  been  the 
strangest  day  I  ever  knew.  No  other  day  will  ever  be 
quite  like  it  for  me." 

"  Nor  for  me,"  Beth  said,  sadly,  and  neither  one  under 
stood  the  other. 


CHAPTER    VI 
PILGRIM     SONS 

We  ourselves  must  Pilgrims  be, 

Launch  our  Mayflower  and  steer  boldly 
Through  the  desperate  winter  sea. 

—  James  Russell  LowelL 

COKE  WREN,  the  settler  who  had  built  a  cabin  on 
the  edge  of  the  ravine  in  August,  and  had  had  two 
accidents  since  his  coming  to  the  West,  was  not  the  kind 
of  man  to  be  disturbed  by  accidents.  Coke  was  a  wiry 
little  Yankee  from  Massachusetts,  who  with  his  equally 
wiry  little  wife,  Patty  Wren,  had  come  to  the  West  as 
easily  as  the  wild  geese  fly  southward.  There  were  no 
little  Wrens  in  their  nest,  and  the  pair  could  have  roosted, 
if  it  had  been  necessary,  in  their  getting  settled  in  Kan 
sas.  In  fact,  they  had  already  done  this  for  the  larger 
part  of  one  night  before  they  were  finally  domiciled  on 
the  edge  of  the  ravine.  They  had  built  their  first  home 
down  in  the  heart  of  the  hollow,  with  the  Yankee  notion 
of  the  need  for  such  shelter  in  the  Kansas  winters  as  the 
New  England  winters  require.  And  one  night  the  June 
rains  had  filled  all  the  draws  and  swept  down  the  ravine, 
with  a  cloudburst  helping  to  do  things.  The  little  Wrens' 
nest  went  to  pieces,  and  whatever  may  have  gotten  by 
the  Hole  in  the  Rock  went  gaily  on  through  the  Waka- 
rusa  to  the  Kaw,  landing  at  last  at  some  sand-bar,  or 
swept  even  to  the  big  muddy  Missouri,  doing  its  own 
annual  business  of  destruction  just  then. 

64 


PILGRIMSONS  65 

The  two  Wrens,  as  Coke  afterward  declared,  "  flew  the 
coop  "  just  in  time  to  reach  some  trees,  where  they  staid 
until  the  waters  receded  and  the  morning  rainbow  cut  the 
blackness  of  the  eastern  sky.  Patty  declared  that  Coke 
had  crowed  at  daybreak  that  morning,  he  felt  so  much 
at  home  in  the  thorny  locust,  whither  they  had  sought 
refuge  in  that  midnight  flood.  At  any  rate,  the  Wrens 
were  ready  to  take  whatever  came,  and  it  was  their 
sense  of  humor  and  upbubbling  cheer  that  broke  up 
more  than  one  neighborhood  feud  in  the  years  that  fol 
lowed,  and  kept  homesick,  lonely  families  anchored  in 
the  West  until  they  had  no  wish  to  leave  it  any 
more. 

That  spirit  of  daring  was  what  had  caused  Coke's 
second  accident,  when  he  tried  to  force  his  fiery  little 
horse  down  a  steep,  slippery  path  in  the  ravine  to  find 
what  it  was  that  had  so  frightened  the  beast  and  made  it 
rear  backward.  The  result  was  just  the  usual  outcome 
of  such  a  feat.  Coke  was  laid  up  for  days  —  against 
his  own  judgment,  of  course,  because  he  had  a  strong 
reason  for  wanting  to  go  to  Lawrence,  a  reason  he 
revealed  only  to  Patty. 

There  was  no  physician  nearer  than  Dr.  Robinson,  in 
Lawrence,  and  he  had  gone  to  the  Topeka  convention, 
forbidding  Wren  to  step  on  his  wrenched  ankle. 

"I  want  to  know,"  Wren  said,  with  his  down-East 
drawl,  "does  Doc  Robinson  think  I'd  want  to  step  on 
it,  or  have  anybody  else  do  it,  either?  No  more  do  I  want 
a  doctor  settin'  on  my  head,  tellin'  me  where  I  can  go 
and  what  I  das  or  dassent  do."  Coke  said  "dew"  for 
"  do,"  with  other  pronounced  Yankeeisms. 

"Now,  Cokey,  don't  be  obstinit,"  Patty  said,  sooth 
ingly,  her  bright,  black  eyes  twinkling  and  her  little, 
beak-like  face  hiding  a  merry  grin.  "The  doctor  may 


66  A    WALL     OF     MEN 

put  hobbles  on  ye  and  turn  ye  loose  on  the  perairie  if 
you  dew.' 

Coke  giggled,  but  made  up  his  mind  not  to  obey  the 
order  just  the  same.  In  fact,  he  was  feverish  to  get  about 
on  another  account.  Contrary  to  command,  he  staid  at 
home  only  so  long  as  he  himself  deemed  necessary,  and 
then  rode  the  same  fiery  pony  which  had  so  recently 
thrown  him,  away  down  the  Trail,  and  on  to  the  little 
village  of  Lawrence.  Dr.  Robinson  came  down  the  main 
street  just  in  time  to  see  his  patient  tying  his  horse 
before  Winthrop  Merriford's  door.  Shaking  his  fist  at 
his  physician,  he  walked  without  a  limp  into  Merriford's 
house. 

"  You  can't  kill  a  Yankee,"  the  doctor  said  to  himself, 
"  least  of  all  a  little,  boneless  breed  of  Yankee  like  those 
Wrens.  Their  muscles  are  just  strung  on  rubber  cord 
and  they  are  wired  together  through  their  nerve  cavi 
ties.  Wren  and  his  wife  in  one  basket  wouldn't  weigh 
a  hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds,  but  he  may  outlast 
a  man  like  Merriford  or  Lamond." 

The  name  and  fame  of  Lawrence  in  that  time  was 
bigger  in  Massachusetts  and  other  New  England  States 
than  it  was  in  Kansas,  and  the  sturdy  little  village  was 
mainly  a  thing  of  promise.  A  few  comfortable  homes, 
according  to  frontier  ideas  of  comfort,  were  surrounded 
by  all  grades  of  habitations  downward  to  the  mere 
tent. 

And  yet  the  lack  of  things  was  the  poverty  of  the 
beginnings  of  the  struggle,  not  the  degradation  of  pau 
perism  at  the  end  of  it.  And  with  all  was  democratic 
goodfellowship  and  a  freedom  from  conventional  bonds. 
Everybody  knew  the  limitations  of  the  West  and  every 
body  knew  these  limitations  were  no  bar  to  what  the 
turn  of  the  years  might  bring;  that  good  fortune  might 


PILGRIMSONS  67 

be  to-morrow  the  endowment  of  the  poorest  of  to-day,  if 
his  heart  was  stout  and  his  hand  willing. 

Among  the  best  of  the  Lawrence  homes  in  the  middle 
'  SQ'S  was  that  of  Winthrop  Merriford,  lawyer,  abolitionist, 
statesman,  gentleman.  New  England  soil  grew  no  finer 
man,  nor  did  this  young  Kansas  Territory  hold  a  citi 
zen  of  broader  grasp  and  clearer  view.  From  the  day  of 
his  coming  to  the  West  he  held  his  own  place  in  the 
affairs  of  the  young  commonwealth. 

The  steamer  that  had  followed  the  one  bringing  Win 
throp  Merriford  up  the  Missouri  River  had  brought  Coke 
Wren,  who  looked  upon  Merriford  as  the  biggest  asset 
a  State  could  possess.  He  had  known  the  lawyer  from 
his  own  boyhood,  and  would  have  accounted  no  sacrifice 
too  great  to  show  his  respect  for  his  friend. 

As  he  walked  into  the  open  hall  door  of  the  Merriford 
home  on  this  day,  he  came  plump  into  Jupe,  the  refugee 
negro. . 

"Why,  hello,  where  the  Old  Scratch  did  you  come 
from?  Are  you  yourself  or  are  you  not?  I  want  to 
know,  now." 

Jupe's  white  teeth  fairly  flashed,  as  he  towered  above 
the  little  Yankee. 

"You're  Mars'r  Wren,  from  old  Massachusetts,  now 
ain't  you?"  he  beamed  with  pleasure. 

"Yes,  that's  me;  but  who  are  you?  Not  that  runaway 
nigger,  Jupe,  who  got  up  to  Boston,  are  you?" 

"I  shore  is,"  Jupe  replied.  "Come  in  here."  He  led 
the  way  into  the  parlor.  "Set  down,  Mars'r  Wren,  set 
down.  Seems  like  I  must  talk  to  you  a  little  while." 

"All  right,  Jupiter,  but  I  want  to  see  Merriford  first. 
I'm  in  a  hurry  to  see  him;  important  business,  you 
know."  Wren  seated  himself  and  the  negro  stood  lean 
ing  against  the  mantel  facing  him.  "  Never  mind  'bout 


68  AWALLOFMEN 

Mars'r  Merriford.  He  an'  Mis'  Merriford  an'  the  little 
gals,  Annie  an'  Nellie,  all  done  gone  to  Leavenworf,  an' 
won't  be  back  till  late  this  evenin'.  An'  Mars'r  Wren,  I 
jest  must  talk  to  somebody  or  I'll  bust."  Jupe  grinned 
broadly. 

"  I  want  to  know !  Well,  talk  to  me,  then.  Don't  want 
no  more  busted  citizens  in  Kansas.  We  are  all  poor 
enough  now."  And  then  Coke  Wren  grew  serious. 
"  Say,  Jupe,  you  are  the  darkey  that  got  up  to  Boston  the 
year  Neil  Merriford  graduated  at  Harvard,  aren't  you?" 

Jupe  gave  a  great  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob,  and, 
rising,  he  went  to  each  of  the  two  windows  as  if  to  make 
sure  no  one  was  looking  in. 

"  Don't  feel  bad  nor  afraid,  Jupe ;  Lawrence  is  too  full 
of  New  England  folks,  regular  old  codfish-eatin'  down- 
Easterners,  for  you  to  be  'f raid  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law 
any  more.  S'pose  you  just  save  me  any  questions  and 
tell  me  all  you  want  to?  Suffering  snakes!  but  it  do 
look  good  to  see  anything  that  reminds  me  of  Neil  Mer 
riford.  Lord  bless  him.  He  '11  be  comin'  to  Kansas  soon, 
I  hope." 

The  negro  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"  Say,  Mars'r  Wren,  lemme  tell  you  all  something.  I 
ain't  a  slave  to  no  man  with  my  hands  no  more.  I  hires 
to  Mars'  Merriford,  an'  he  done  pays  me  ef  I  'm  worthy 
of  my  hire.  But,  Mars'  Wren,  a  man  may  be  white  as 
heaven  in  his  skin,  an'  be  the  biggest  slave  on  God's 
earth,  he  may. 

"  I  is  a  free  man  of  my  master,  down  Souf,"  Jupe  went 
on,  "but  'long  as  I'm  so  —  ignorant"  —  he  struggled 
with  that  word  —  "jest  so  long  I  is  a  slave.  But  I  is 

learnin',  and  when  I  git  learnin'  all  done,  then "    He 

stood  up  to  his  full  height,  six  feet  and  three  inches,  with 
the  muscles  of  a  giant  and  the  face  of  a  child. 


PILGRIM    SONS  69 

"  I  reckon  you  '11  make  it  through,  all  right,  if  you  for- 
git  the  darkey  trick  of  stealin',  and  tend  to  your  knittin' 
careful.  Was  this  what  you  had  to  tell?" 

"I  ain't  near  done  yet,"  Jupe  said,  seating  himself 
opposite  the  little  Yankee.  "I  is  only  beginnin',  but  I 
want  you  all  to  know  first  I  ain't  yet  out  of  slavery  till 
I  get  furder  in  my  knowledge.  Mars'  Wren,  I  done  run 
out  of  the  Souf  to  Boston.  You  'member  how  the  old 
overseer  chase  after  me  till  he  git  clear  to  Boston  — 
Mars'r  Neil  Merriford  jest  gittin'  out  of  college  that 
year?  It  was  June  —  roses  time,  an'  Mars'r  done  fall  in 
love  with  a  pretty  miss  —  a  girl  from  down  Souf,  what 
was  up  in  Boston  learnin'  music.  Maybe  I  ought  n't  say 
it,"  Jupe  hesitated,  "but  I  never  see  no  girls  up  Norf 
quite  so  sweet  and  pretty  as  them  pretty  ladies  down 
Souf,  real,  soft-voiced  lady-birds,  graceful  an'  sweet." 

"  Just  like  Patty,  she 's  graceful  as  a  hen.  Yes,  go  on," 
Wren  observed. 

"  Mars'r  Neil  awfully  in  love  with  this  fine  lady.  When 
I  git  to  Boston  I  was  nigh  dead,  and  Neil  Merriford  done 
stop  right  with  that  pretty  girl  —  done  stop  that  night  I 
get  there  to  his  father's  door  —  and  go  back  in  his  house 
and  tell  his  step-mother,  little  Miss  Nellie  and  Annie's 
mother,  to  give  poor  runaway  darkey  a  good  supper." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  something  about  that.  The  overseer 
pretty  near  got  you,  didn't  he?"  Wren  asked. 

"I  was  'twix'  two  fires,  the  debbil  and  the  deep-sea 
fires,  shore.  I  know  Mars'r  Neil's  girl  —  and  she  know 
me,  down  Souf  —  and  I  did'nt  want  to  stay  round  where 
Mars'r  Neil  was.  And  that  overseer  come  chasm'  his- 
self  clear  to  Boston,  and  I  did  n't  know  where  to  go." 

"Where  did  you  go?"  asked  Wren. 

"  Down  to  the  river-side,  meanin*  to  jump  in  ef  I  got 
too  close  pressed." 


70  AWALLOFMEN 

"  So  that 's  how  it  happened  that  when  Neil's  boat  got 
upset  and  he  had  saved  the  girl's  life,  and  was  about  to 
go  down  himself,  you  jumped  in  and  fished  him  out.  And 
then  Neil  faced  that  overseer  next  day,  and  dared  him 
to  touch  you,  and  he  had  to  go  back  without  you.  And 
so  you  knew  Neil's  girl,  did  you?  Well,  how  did  the 
whole  rumpus  come  out?  I  heard  Neil  had  some  trouble, 
but  I  was  up  in  Maine  gettin'  rid  of  some  old  dornicks 
and  a  little  sand  they  call  a  farm,  so 's  I  could  come  West, 
and  I  lost  track.  Did  you  come  West  from  Massa 
chusetts?" 

"  No,  sah ! "  The  negro's  face  was  a  study.  "  I  went 
Souf  again  after  that." 

"What  for,  Jupe?" 

"For  my  wife.  But" — in  a  lowered  tone  and  slowly 
— "she  is  dead  now."  The  man's  voice  was  full  of 
pathos,  and  the  grief  of  his  countenance  was  pitiful  to 
see. 

"  And  so  you  came  West.  I  reckon  you  done  well  by 
it,"  Wren  said. 

"Yes,  we  come  West  —  I  mean  I  did,  'cause  she's 
dead.  Lemme  tell  you,  Mars'r  Wren,  'fore  God,  I  got  a 
work  to  do  yit,  but  I  ain't  out  of  the  house  of  bondage, 
not  yit." 

"Oh,  you  are  safe  enough,  I  tell  you.  In  a  hand-to- 
hand  fight  you're  a  match  for  a  dozen,  anyhow,  and 
Lawrence  will  give  you  a  good  home  if  you  behave  your 
self.  There's  a  warm  heart  in  this  little  town.  The 
children  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  is  here,  and  they  know 
what  rings  sound  and  what  is  worthless.  They  measure 
men  more  by  the  Golden  Rule  than  a  golden  ruler:  When 
ye  git  down  to  real  brass  tacks,  ye  can  trust  old  New 
England  men  every  time." 


PILGRIM    SONS  71 

"I  knows  it.  Ain't  I  with  Mars'r  Merriford?  But  I 
ain't  free  up  here  yit."  He  tapped  his  forehead. 

"Oh,  I  understand.  Well,  keep  your  eyes  open,  and, 
for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  do  too  much  talkin',  and  you 
can  learn.  Land  o'  nutmegs!  You  can  learn.  These 
peraries  is  a  open  spellin'-book,  and  there 's  a  right  good 
gospel  runnin'  down  the  Wakarusa  every  day.  You  don't 
need  to  be  white  to  read  the  handwritin*  of  God 
Almighty.  You  '11  git  your  whole  freedom  quick  enough, 
if  you  just  put  your  best  licks  at  it.  When 's  Merriford 
to  get  back,  did  you  say?  " 

"To-night  —  maybe  sooner,"  Jupe  answered,  absently. 

"Where's  Neil  now?  Will  he  be  comin'  here  soon, 
do  you  suppose?"  Wren  questioned. 

Jupe  turned  his  back  on  the  little  Yankee,  and,  staring 
out  of  the  window,  he  answered,  slowly : 

"You  better  wait  till  Mars'r  Merriford  gits  here,  and 
ask  him," 

Coke  Wren  did  not  have  long  to  wait  before  Winthrop 
Merriford  and  his  family  came. 

"Hello,  Coke,"  the  lawyer  called,  cheerily.  "Does  a 
man  good  to  see  you.  I  thought  you  were  tied  to  the 
bedpost  at  home.  Dr.  Robinson  said  you  wouldn't  be 
out  for  two  weeks." 

"And  lied,  as  is  his  professional  duty.  We  could  be 
seedin'  down  our  graveyards  with  early  potatoes  if  there 
was  a  few  less  doctors  runnin'  at  large." 

"  You  are  hard  on  them,  Coke  —  a  man  that 's  always 
getting  broken  up  like  you  are,  too.  You  ought  to  be 
glad  there's  somebody  willing  to  gather  up  your  mem 
bers  and  wire  you  together  again." 

They  were  standing  by  the  stable  door  while  Jupe 
was  taking  care  of  the  horses. 


72  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Come,  Wren,  let 's  go  in.  I  've  had  a  long  ride  in  this 
sharp  air,"  Merriford  said. 

"  Can  I  see  you  by  yourself?  "  Wren  asked.  "  I  've  got 
something  to  tell  you." 

"Come  into  the  office.  Mrs.  Merriford  and  the  girls 
will  be  busy  in  the  house,  and  we  will  not  be  interrupted. 
Jupe,  go  in  and  help  Mrs.  Merriford,  when  you  get 
through." 

"  You  won't  need  me  in  the  office,  will  you,  sir? " 
queried  Jupe,  with  a  longing  look. 

"  No,  not  now.  Hurry  along  lively."  And  the  two 
men  went  inside  the  little  building  that  was  just  then 
the  biggest  law  office  in  Lawrence. 

"  Merriford,  I  '11  be  quick,"  Coke  Wren  began.  "  I  've 
been  two  weeks  keepin'  still,  except  to  Patty.  The  day 
I  was  hurt  I  was  down  in  the  ravine  and  my  horse  got 
so  almighty  scared  at  somethin',  I  couldn't  understand 
what.  So  I  tried  to  git  back  by  a  short-cut  to  the  same 
place.  And  what  in  the  dickens  do  you  reckon  I  found? 
It  was  in  gittin'  away  from  it  that  my  horse  slipped." 

Merriford  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  I  come  square  on  the  bay  colt  that  Colonel 
Boniface  Penwin  traded  for  that  roan  horse  he 's  carvin' 
up  the  perarie  with  these  days.  The  colt  was  dead,  with 
a  bullet  hole  in  its  chest.  Here's  the  bullet.  I  cut  it 
out.  I  left  the  hole,  not  needin'  it  for  purposes  of  identi 
fication." 

Coke  handed  the  lawyer  a  bullet  as  he  said  this.  Mer 
riford  examined  it  carefully,  and  then,  carefully  wrapping 
it  up,  locked  it  in  a  drawer  in  his  desk. 

"You  mean  for  me  to  keep  it?"  he  asked. 

Coke  nodded.  "Of  course;  I  brought  it  to  you.  But 
Merriford,  there's  something  wrong." 

"Yes,  there's  much  that  is  wrong."    Merriford  medi- 


PILGRIM    SONS  73 

tated  before  he  went  on.  "  Why  did  Jupe  want  to  come 
in  here  instead  of  going  into  the  house,  do  you 
suppose?" 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  why  a  nigger  wants  to  do 
anything.  Do  you  think  the  nigger  knows?"  the  little 
man  returned. 

"  Yes,  Jupe  knows  what  he  is  about  every  minute.  He 
knows  something  he  won't  tell,  or  doesn't  dare  tell  me. 
I'm  biding  my  time.  Mark  me,  Coke  Wren,  when  we 
find  out  who  sent  that  bullet,  and  when  and  why  it  was 
sent,  we'll  find  Jupe  knows  it,  too." 

"  I  want  to  know !  Do  you  trust  him,  Merrif ord  ?  I 
don't  want  the  race  to  be  slaves,  and  I  don't  want  to  be 
slaves  to  'em,  neither."  Coke  gave  his  comical  face  a 
twist. 

"I  trust  this  man  as  I  would  trust  you,"  Merriford 
replied.  "But  he  doesn't  trust  me  —  yet.  He  will.  I 
can  wait." 

"Well,  I  must  be  goin',  or  some  son  of  Belial  will  be 
puttin'  a  bullet  into  my  horse  down  in  that  same  ravine," 
Wren  said,  rising. 

"Are  you  afraid,  Coke?"  Merriford  asked. 

"  Not  of  the  devil  himself,"  the  Yankee  declared.  "  By 
the  way,"  he  added,  "what  do  you  hear  from  your  boy, 
Neil,  Merriford?" 

The  lawyer's  face  clouded.  It  was  a  good,  strong  face, 
with  a  firm  mouth,  kind  eyes,  and  thoughtful  brow. 

"Wren,  you  know  he  went  South,  expecting  to  settle 
up  affairs  and  take  his  bride  home  with  him.  I  had  hoped 
later  they  would  decide  to  come  on  West.  Neil  is  a  fine 
boy,  Coke,  if  he  is  my  son,  and  the  girl  he  is  to  marry 
will  get  acclimated  to  the  North  all  right.  She  and 
Neil  are  very  fond  of  each  other,  more  so  than  most 
young  lovers  are.  He  wrote  me  one  letter,  a  short  one, 


74  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

•aying  he  found  things  in  bad  shape.  Didn't  specify 
anything.  He  is  back  in  Boston  by  this  time.  I  expect 
a  letter  from  him  by  every  mail.  And  yet  mails  are  slow, 
and  if  the  boy  has  had  to  put  off  his  wedding,  I  expect 
he's  pretty  blue,  and  doesn't  feel  like  writing.  I  am 
hoping  all  will  be  well  for  him.  I  'd  get  pretty  much 
concerned  if  things  weren't  keeping  us  all  on  the  jump 
here  in  Kansas.  My  hands  are  full  of  my  own  affairs. 
I  don't  know  how  I  'd  get  along  without  my  little  girls 
and  their  mother  to  give  me  something  comforting  to 
think  about.  Neil  had  much  of  the  loss  of  his  own 
mother  made  up  to  him  in  the  love  of  his  step-mother. 
Nothing  like  a  home  to  anchor  a  man,  is  there,  Coke? 
We  need  these  home-anchors  here,  too,  for  the  Battle 
of  the  Lord  is  going  to  be  fought  out  here  soon,  and 
we  must  help  to  fight  it." 

"That's  what  Patty  and  me  said  the  rainy  night  we 
roosted  in  the  thorny  locust.  We  said  we  could  make  a 
home  with  each  other.  We  didn't  have  to  have  that 
house,  for  it  was  too  flimsy  to  stay  over  our  heads  and 
hold  us,  and  we  were  stronger  than  it  was.  We  just 
carried  our  home  in  our  two  hearts  and  flew  up  into  that 
snarly  ornery  locust  tree  like  a  couple  of  bantams,  and 
turned  our  oiled  feathers  to  the  rain,  so  to  speak.  We 
didn't  come  to  Kansas  to  git  scared  out  by  trifles.  We 
are  here  to  make  this  a  Free-Soil  State,  by  gum ! " 

"  You  are  a  blamed  good  fellow,  Coke  Wren.  Kansas 
will  win  to  a  Free-State  land  if  half  its  settlers  have 
your  pluck.  Good-by." 

When  his  visitor  was  gone,  Winthrop  Merriford  un 
locked  his  drawer  and  took  out  the  bullet  he  had  placed 
therein,  and  examined  it  long  and  carefully.  He  even 
took  it  to  the  window,  and  with  a  magnifying  glass 
studied  it  painfully.  In  his  absorption  he  did  not  notice 


PILGRIM    SONS  75 

At  first  that  Jupe  was  standing  by  the  window  on  the 
outside,  looking  as  intently  at  him  as  he  was  looking 
at  the  bullet.  He  took  care  that  the  black  man  should 
see  the  careless  gesture  by  which  he  seemed  to  throw  the 
bit  of  lead  into  the  ash  pan  by  the  stove,  and  then  care 
fully  lock  some  papers  in  his  desk. 

"  I  'd  give  much  if  I  had  the  pistol  that  sent  that  bul 
let."  He  sighed  deeply.  "  I  wonder  how  long  Jupe  has 
been  out  there,  and  if  he  heard  anything.  Hardly  could 
have  done  that,  though.  I  saw  to  that  when  this  little 
shack  was  built.  I'll  wait  awhile  and  the  fellow  will 
come  to  me.  I  won't  need  to  follow  him  around." 

Wren  reached  the  ravine  on  his  homeward  journey 
at  twilight.  He  always  rode  like  the  wind,  but,  remem 
bering  his  recent  fall  on  the  steep  path  up-stream,  he  reined 
in  his  horse  on  the  slippery  Trail,  and  passed  gently 
down  the  way  to  the  crossing.  Where  the  shadows 
were  thickest  by  the  Hole  in  the  Rock,  his  keen  eyes 
caught  sight  of  a  man  on  horseback,  staring  at  the  still, 
black  pool.  So  absorbed  was  the  lone  watcher  there, 
that  he  did  not  note  Wren's  approach  until  the  pony's 
feet  struck  the  water  of  the  crossing.  Then  he  started 
violently,  and,  wheeling  his  horse,  he  dashed  up  the 
farther  side  of  the  hollow  like  a  very  fury. 

"Well,  Gosh  Almighty!  What  was  Colonel  Boniface 
Penwin  doin',  settin'  there  in  the  dark?  That  roan  of 
his'n  was  a  good  trade,  all  right.  It  can  go  like  an 
Injun's  horse,  sure  as  the  world.  The  idea  of  a  man 
like  Penwin,  weighin'  two  hundred,  runnin'  from  a 
stringy  little  shoat  like  me,  that's  got  to  git  my  con 
science  weighin'  heavy  'fore  I  can  ever  tip  ninety-nine 
pound.  I  'm  thankful  right  now  to  the  Good  Bein'  that  I 
don't  have  to  run  from  nobody  on  the  Lord's  footstool, 
and  I  ain't  never  goin'  to,  neither.  I  'd  ruther  be  dead  all 


76  AWALLOFMEN 

my  life  than  be  a  livin'  disgrace  to  myself,  jest  despisin* 
the  man  I  was  packin'  round  with  me  ever'  day."  And 
Coke  Wren,  happy  at  heart,  hurried  to  his  little  Wren's 
nest  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine,  a  mile  away. 


CHAPTER    VII 
A    PROPHECY 

As  long  as  Nature  shall  not  grow  old, 
Nor  drop  her  work  from  her  doting  hold; 
And  her  care  for  the  Indian  comfort, 
And  the  yellow  rows  in  pairs  to  set; 
So  long  shall  Christians  here  be  born, 
Grow  up  and  ripen  as  God's  sweet  corn! 

—  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

THE  last  real  Indian  summer  day  of  that  Autumn  fell 
on  a  Sabbath  following  a  week  of  chilly,  gray  skies, 
bitter  morning  air,  and  frost  in  the  lowlands.  All  these 
were  swept  out  of  mind  by  the  sunburst  of  the  glorious 
dawn  of  a  holy  day,  in  whose  sweet  hours  the  heavens 
were  arched  above  the  earth,  like  an  amethyst  dome, 
tinted  about  its  low  rim  with  topaz  and  mother-of-pearl ; 
while  shimmering  prairie  and  wooded  headland  and 
winding  waters,  in  deep,  purple  vales,  smiled  back  at  the 
skies  above  them.  Beneath  the  cottonwood  trees  the 
ground  was  golden  with  fallen  leaves.  The  edge  of  the 
ravine  was  all  scarlet  with  sumac,  blending  through 
duller  tones  to  the  richness  of  the  oak  brush  and  the  dark 
green  of  the  scrub  cedar  in  the  hollow.  The  bitter 
sweet  bushes  hung  with  coral  beads,  and  the  deep  pink 
of  the  straggling  squawberry  brightened  the  bronze- 
brown  of  the  upland.  In  the  far  distance  a  wreath  of 
heliotrope  haze  hung  between  heaven  and  earth,  as  if 
the  hand  of  Omnipotent  Beauty  would  lay  upon  the 
brow  of  Nature  its  crowning  gift  to  the  year's  best  days. 

77 


78  AWALLOFMEN 

Across  the  land  flowed  the  caressing  breeze  of  the  open 
west,  exhilarating  as  wine,  gentle  as  peace,  buoyant  as 
hope. 

Truly,  the  earth  was  doing  her  best  on  this  Sabbath 
day  to  bear  from  the  Infinite  a  beneficent  token  of  glad 
ness  to  the  sons  and  daughters  of  men.  And  if  there  was 
sadness,  or  unrest,  or  dread  on  this  rare  day,  they  came 
not  from  without,  but  from  within  the  hearts  of  men. 
And  there  was  sadness,  and  unrest,  and  dread,  in  the 
minds  of  the  settlers  of  the  plains  in  this  late  autumn 
time. 

Eighteen  months  had  passed  since  the  Kansas  Terri 
tory  had  been  opened  for  settlement,  with  the  national 
provision  that  the  majority  should  rule.  Beyond  question, 
even  in  eighteen  months  the  number  of  Free-State  men 
who  had  become  citizens  of  the  new  Territory  greatly 
exceeded  the  number  of  those  who  would  make  it  a  land 
of  slavery.  True  there  were  here,  as  everywhere,  double- 
dealing,  unprincipled  men,  who  serve  the  devil  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord,  whose  acts  brought  shame  upon  a 
noble  cause.  And  there  were  also  Southern  sympathizers 
who  from  first  to  last  were  honorable,  law-abiding  citi 
zens.  But  clear  of  both  of  these,  the  home-builders  of 
the  young  commonwealth  were  already  proving  the  trend 
of  the  majority,  needing  only  the  faithfulness  of  the  Na 
tional  Government  to  its  own  statute  and  the  protection 
of  their  rights  as  citizens  at  home  to  settle  the  issue  in  a 
peaceful  ballot-box. 

Yet  in  this  autumn,  neither  the  power  at  Washington 
nor  the  civil  power  in  the  Territory  availed  to  protect 
this  growing  little  majority.  Governor  Shannon  was 
both  weak-willed  and  unacquainted  with  the  real  people 
whom  he  had  sworn  to  serve.  Not  so  the  officer  chosen 
by  an  illegitimate  legislature  to  maintain  civil  peace.  This 


APROPHECY  79 

man,  as  postmaster  in  Missouri,  and  sheriff  of  the  region 
round  about  Lawrence,  with  the  personal  qualities  of  a 
braggart,  a  coward,  a  drunkard,  and  an  assassin,  became 
the  efficient  servant  of  the  governor  and  tool  of  those 
who  knew  no  law  beyond  the  law  of  the  shotgun  and 
the  bowie  knife.  And  all  the  while,  just  across  the  east 
ern  border,  ready  to  rush  at  the  cry  of  the  victim,  to  be  in 
at  the  kill,  and  loot  of  booty,  was  the  inevitable  horde 
of  the  rank  of  social  disorder  —  men  of  unbridled  pas 
sions,  whose  appetites  were  debauched,  whose  love  was 
lust,  whose  brute  satiety  was  reached  through  squan 
dered  human  blood. 

Small  wonder  that  there  should  be  sadness,  and  unrest, 
and  dread  in  the  minds  of  the  settlers  on  this  fair  Sab 
bath  day.  And  great  the  marvel  that,  with  all  this  threat 
ening  of  calamity,  hearts  were  stout  and  voices  brave, 
and  eyes  looked  still  unflinchingly  westward. 

Along  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  and  up  from  new-made 
by-trails,  and  across  the  sheer,  trackless  prairie,  on  this 
Sabbath  morning  came  the  settlers  from  far-scattered 
homes.  They  threaded  in  from  all  directions,  their  con 
verging  paths  pointing  to  the  little  village  of  Palmyra, 
sitting  with  the  pert  expectancy  of  a  new  frontier  town 
beside  the  Trail. 

A  preacher,  welcome  visitor  to  the  early  frontier,  a 
Methodist  preacher,  it  chanced  was  spending  the  day  in 
Palmyra.  He  had  come  into  town  on  Saturday  with  a 
wagon  train,  going  westward  on  the  Trail,  bound  for 
Santa  Fe.  The  train  had  moved  on  to  travel  on  the 
Sabbath  as  well  as  any  other  day,  but  the  preacher  had 
staid  behind.  Word  had  swept  the  Vinland  Valley  like 
a  prairie  fire  that  Saturday  afternoon  that  a  sermon  could 
be  heard  in  Palmyra  on  Sunday.  Hence  these  prairie 
Pilgrims  making  for  one  common  shrine  in  the  loneliness 


80  AWALLOFMEN 

of  this  autumn  day.  It  mattered  not  that  this  preacher 
called  himself  a  Methodist.  Baptist,  Presbyterian,  Quaker, 
or  Episcopalian,  with  those  who  claimed  no  specific 
church  affiliations,  all  came  hither,  hungering  not  more 
in  truth  for  the  gospel  message  than  they  were  drawn  by 
a  homesick  longing  for  the  Sabbath  of  a  civilized  land. 

"  Mother,  my  stone-bruise  hurts  my  shoe.  I  wish  I 
could  go  barefoot  in  winter,  too,"  little  Joe  Darrow  said, 
trudging  along  with  his  mother,  behind  his  father  and 
Mark,  on  their  way  to  Palmyra. 

"Better  stick  to  thy  copper-toes,  Joey,"  Mark  looked 
back  to  advise.  "  If  there  was  only  one  rock  in  Kansas, 
thee  would  be  sure  to  stump  thy  bare  feet  against  it. 
Whew,  look  behind  you ! "  This  to  Elliot,  who  brought 
up  the  rear. 

The  Darrow  family  all  turned  at  Mark's  words,  to  find 
the  Lamonds  rounding  a  curve  in  the  Trail  behind  them. 

Elliot  had  not  seen  Beth  since  the  night  he  left  her 
with  Craig  Penwin,  and  he  had  told  himself  often  enough 
to  have  convinced  anybody  else  that  he  was  overcoming 
the  dreariness  that  five  minutes  spent  at  Lamond's  door 
had  managed  to  crowd  into  his  days.  True,  he  had  been 
able  to  see  only  one  picture  in  these  weeks  —  the  picture 
of  a  fair-faced  girl  in  a  dark-red  dress.  A  sweet  picture, 
only  the  face  had  no  welcome  in  it  for  him,  and  the 
courtesy  of  greeting  had  been  a  mere  form.  And  in  the 
background  of  all  of  this  sat  Craig  Penwin,  whom  also 
Elliot  had  not  seen  since  that  night. 

The  Lamonds  fell  in  with  their  neighbors  by  natural 
selection,  Mr.  Lamond  beside  Hiram  Darrow  and  his 
wife  with  Isabel.  Joe  and  Mark  shot  on  ahead  together, 
leaving  Beth  and  Elliot  to  do  the  best  they  could  for 
each  other.  The  conversation  was  not  general.  The 
boys  discussed  the  rules  of  the  game  in  "  shinney."  The 


A    PROPHECY  81 

men  were  earnest  over  problems  of  state,  while  their 
wives  considered  the  best  ways  of  keeping  house  in  the 
coming  Winter  with  the  conveniences  of  the  frontier. 
Only  the  two  behind  all  the  others  found  it  difficult  to 
talk. 

"It  has  been  a  rough  week.  How  quickly  it  has 
changed!"  Beth  ventured. 

"  Yes,  this  is  a  strange  country,"  Elliot  answered,  a 
little  stiffly,  "but  it  is  a  beautiful  land,  isn't  it?" 

They  were  at  the  top  of  one  of  those  prairie  billows 
wherefrom  the  earth,  and  the  fulness  thereof,  unfolds 
to  the  view  with  a  beauty  so  intense  that  to  the  artistic 
spirit  the  joy  of  it  is  close  to  pain.  The  wooing  sweet 
ness  of  the  autumn  day  caught  them  in  its  spell  and  drove 
from  them  with  one  caress  of  its  soft  air  what  hours  of 
explanation  might  only  have  bungled  in  attempting.  All 
the  severe  manners  and  guarded  speech  each  had  planned 
to  use  .when  they  should  meet  deserted  them  in  the  sur 
prise  of  the  pleasure  of  being  together  again.  They  had 
fallen  behind  the  others,  and  the  world,  their  world, 
because  they  were  young  and  made  worlds  easily,  had  no 
flaws  in  the  making. 

"Why  does  father  always  call  this  kind  of  a  day  a 
'weather-breeder,'  I  wonder,"  Beth  said,  with  the  joy 
of  the  morning  dancing  in  her  dark,  gray  eyes.  "Isn't 
every  day  a  '  weather-breeder '  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!"  Elliot's  pulse  was  on  the  up-grade,  too. 
"  But  nobody  ever  thinks  of  that,  only  in  the  sunshiny 
hours.  Why  shouldn't  we  say  on  dark,  rainy  nights, 
'  Oh,  this  is  a  "  weather-breeder  " !  To-morrow  will  be 
fine  again '  ?  " 

And  then  the  thought  of  one  dark,  rainy  night  came  to 
both,  and  what  Beth  saw  in  Elliot  Darrow's  eyes  made 
her  turn  quickly  from  him.  But  not  so  quickly  that 


82  AWALLOFMEN 

something,  that  marvelous  something  that  even  wise 
Solomon  said  was  among  the  quartette  of  things  too 
wonderful  for  him,  had  made  the  young  man's  heart  give 
a  great  bound,  and  he  dared  not  say  another  word  along 
this  line. 

"  I  think,  Beth,  the  days  now  are  all,  in  a  way,  trouble- 
breeders,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  Father  was  over  at 
Palmyra  when  that  wagon  train  went  through  yester 
day.  They  didn't  have  very  cheerful  news  to  bring 
of  the  conditions  over  the  border.  Everybody  is  looking 
for  something  to  happen  soon.  But  when  it  does" — 
Elliot's  winning  smile  could  have  swayed  a  doubting  soul 
to  trust  him — "when  it  does  come,  will  be  the  time  to 
say,  '  Oh,  this  is  a  forerunner  of  better  things.'  At  least, 
that's  what  mother  says.  And  if  I  were  an  artist  and 
wanted  to  paint  a  picture  of  Hope,  I'd  paint  Hiram 
Darrow's  wife." 

"  You  would  be  painting  a  beautiful  woman,"  Beth 
said,  softly,  and  then  she  added:  "This  will  be  a  hard 
winter,  of  course.  So  many  settlers  are  not  ready  yet  to 
have  cold  weather  come ;  so  many  poor  houses  and  such 
a  lack  of  food,  and  no  doctor  for  the  sick,  nor  preachers 
for  the  dying." 

"And  with  these,"  Elliot  went  on,  "is  the  danger  to 
human  life,  the  lawlessness  of  the  pro-slavery  men;  and 
Governor  Shannon  weakly  giving  up  to  those  who  count 
any  crime  done  for  their  cause  an  act  of  bravery.  Oh, 
well,  we  'd  better  not  talk  about  it,  or  we  '11  be  '  trouble- 
breeders.'  You  may  get  the  chance  to  go  to  war  yet, 
Beth." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  send  you  and  Coke  Wren,  if  there 's  enough 
of  him  left  by  that  time,"  Beth  answered,  lightly. 

They  were  near  to  the  village  now,  approaching  the 
newest  little  cabin  that  had  straggled  out  beyond  the 


APROPHECY  83 

westward  edge  of  the  settlement,  as  if  hunting  aimlessly 
for  some  geometric  pattern  in  the  town  site  into  which 
it  could  fit ;  and,  finding  none,  had  dropped  down  to  hide 
in  the  tall  grass  like  a  chicken  when  the  mother  hen 
cries  the  warning  for  a  hawk.  A  few  minutes  before  Joe 
and  Mark  had  met  the  owner  of  this  cabin,  a  young 
Southerner,  as  he  was  coming  from  town,  and  persuaded 
him  to  turn  back  and  go  with  them  to  the  preaching. 

Beth  and  Elliot  paused  awhile  and  turned  to  look  back 
over  the  way  they  had  come.  Its  beauty  spread  away  to 
the  westward  like  a  dream  of  fair  lands. 

"  Oh,  Beth,  it  is  worth  it  all,  this  wonderful  country, 
and  the  wonderful  men  and  women  who  dare  to  come 
here.  The  very  winds  that  sweep  across  it  deny  that  it 
shall  ever  be  a  Slave  State,  and  when  I  listen  to  your 
father  and  mine,  and  when  I  think  of  all  that  that 
man,  John  Brown,  said  at  our  house  the  night  after  we 
went  nutting  " —  Elliot's  voice  failed  a  little  here  — "  and 
when  I  think  of  Coke  Wren  and  Patty,  I  know  I  am  glad 
to  be  here." 

"  I  am  glad,  too,"  the  girl  declared.  "  Mother  says  I 
am  intended  for  the  West." 

How  like  a  part  of  all  of  it  she  seemed  just  then! 
Fearless,  happy,  hopeful  —  a  girl  to  adorn  the  land  she 
called  home. 

It  did  not  seem  the  time  just  then  for  Elliot  to  say 
what  he  had  meant  to  say  on  the  night  he  had  found  Beth 
and  Craig  together.  He  was  longing  to  set  himself 
right  with  her,  but  she  seemed  so  different  to-day.  May 
be  she  knew  by  instinct  how  truly  ashamed  of  himself 
he  was.  His  mother  often  understood  him  without  a 
word.  Might  not  Beth  understand  a  little,  too?  At 
any  rate,  he  would  wait  until  after  the  church  service, 
and  he  would  have  more  time  in  a  long  homeward  walk 


84  AWALLOFMEN 

to  get  rid  of  this  load.  Just  now  it  was  so  good  to 
be  near  her,  to  hear  her  speak  and  see  her  smile.  Brave- 
hearted,  sunshiny,  companionable,  her  mother  was 
right,  she  fitted  the  West. 

The  trail  from  Penwin's  came  into  the  Santa  Fe  Trail 
around  a  smooth,  low  knoll,  at  whose  base  were  a  few 
scrubby  wild  plum  bushes.  Lucy  and  Craig  had 
just  rounded  the  knoll  to  enter  the  main  highway.  Lucy 
had  not  been  away  from  home  nor  seen  a  soul  except 
the  Penwin  family  since  the  day  in  the  woods.  Although 
the  two  at  the  top  of  the  slope  were  too  far  away  to 
be  recognized  by  either  herself  or  her  brother,  the  sight 
of  a  woman's  dress  made  impulsive  Lucy  cry  out  with 
joy,  and  she  involuntarily  waved  her  hand  to  Beth. 
Craig,  who  was  ahead,  heard  Lucy's  happy  little  whoop, 
and  looked  up  just  in  time  to  catch  Beth's  answering 
signal.  He  lifted  his  hand  in  courteous  response,  for  the 
plum  bushes  hid  his  sister  at  the  instant,  and  he  took 
the  action  as  a  mere  token  of  greeting  to  himself. 

At  the  top  of  the  slope  Elliot  had  turned  just  in  time 
to  see  Beth's  motion  and  Craig's  answering  signal.  He 
did  not  see  Lucy  by  the  plum  bushes  at  all.  It  was  a 
small  thing,  but  Elliot  was  only  a  boy  in  the  impulses  of 
his  first  love,  not  a  man  with  mature  judgment.  The 
rainy  evening  at  the  Lamond  home  came  like  a  flash, 
and  Beth's  cool  manner  when  Craig  was  near.  A  little 
thrust  of  jealousy  stung  him  as  he  looked  keenly  at 
Beth. 

"Somebody  waved  me  a  grand  good-morning,"  she 
spoke,  with  happy  indifference. 

"Who  was  it?"  asked  Elliot. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  girl,  truthfully,  for  she 
had  not  recognized  the  Penwins  any  more  than  they 
had  recognized  her. 


APROPHECY  85 

Elliot  shut  his  lips  tightly  as  if  that  ready  winning 
smile  could  never  play  about  such  a  stern,  firm  mouth 
again.  He  forgot  that  he  had  been,  able  to  tell  a  red 
roan  horse  from  a  black  one,  when  at  the  same  distance 
neither  Craig  nor  Beth  could  distinguish  black  from 
white.  His  gift  of  keen  eyesight  was  one  of  the  many 
things  he  had  yet  to  learn  about  himself.  With  his  pang 
of  jealousy  was  his  surprise  that  Beth  should  try  to 
deceive  him  in  such  a  small  thing.  Why  should  she 
care  that  he  had  seen  her  send  a  friendly  salute  to  any 
young  man?  It  was  not  the  act,  the  poor  boy  told  him 
self,  but  her  effort  to  conceal  it  that  hurt  him. 

"  Shall  we  go  on?  "  he  asked,  in  a  voice  so  different  that 
Beth  turned  quickly  at  the  question. 

"No,  let's  wait  and  see  who  it  is,"  she  said,  in  a 
bewildered  way. 

Beth  had  tried  to  forget  what  Craig  had  told  her  of 
Elliot's,  speech  on  the  night  after  his  evening  with  her 
on  the  moonlit  porch,  but  now  the  memory  of  those 
careless  words  came  back  to  her. 

"It  is  Craig  and  Lucy,"  Elliot  informed  her. 

Beth  started  and  exclaimed  in  spite  of  herself,  "  Let 's 
go  on." 

But  Elliot  answered  firmly,  "  I  think  we  'd  better  wait 
now." 

They  were  near  the  last  cabin  on  the  west  side  of 
town,  the  little  habitation  squatting  in  the  tall  grass 
that  came  almost  to  the  eaves.  It  had  a  small  window 
looking  to  the  west,  and  a  door  in  the  north  and  another 
in  the  south.  The  doors  were  closed  and  no  sign  of 
life  was  visible. 

"I  suppose  these  people  are  ahead  at  the  preaching," 
Beth  ventured  to  say. 

Elliot  did  not  reply.    Through  the  little  dark  window 


86  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

his  sharp  eyes  caught  sight  of  a  horse's  head  a  few  feet 
from  the  opening.  Craig  and  Lucy  quickened  their 
steps  when  they  recognized  the  two  waiting  for  them. 

Something  was  wrong  for  everybody,  however,  and 
after  the  first  greetings  the  four  passed  almost  silently 
along  the  Trail  to  the  village  settlement.  When  they 
were  beyond  the  cabin,  the  door  opened  a  few  inches 
and  the  face  of  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  peered  after 
them. 

"  So  this  is  the  lawless  land  where  even  children  defy 
their  parents.  I  wish  to  the  devil  I'd  never  brought 
my  family  out  of  Georgia,  and  yet  how  could  I  stay 
there?  The  curse  of  poverty!  I  hate  it.  But  where 's 
my  power  over  my  family  gone?  I  told  Craig  and  Lucy 
not  to  come  here  to-day.  I  suppose  they  chained  Tarley 
up  at  home.  And  I  have  commanded  them  to  let  the 
Darrows  and  Lamonds  alone !  This  is  how  I  'm  obeyed. 
It 's  all  the  result  of  those  damned  abolitionists.  I  won't 
dare  to  make  a  move  to-day." 

The  cabin  door  was  closed  and  no  sign  of  life  was 
visible  as  two  horsemen  came  riding  down  the  Trail. 
Opposite  the  little  grass-hidden  building  their  horses 
stopped  suddenly.  A  low,  whinnying  sound  from  inside 
the  cabin  that  caught  the  hearing  of  the  animals  was 
lost  to  their  riders'  ears.  It  was  the  call  of  the  roan 
horse,  the  same  that  Elliot  had  seen  a  few  minutes 
before.  The  horsemen  passed  on  to  the  village.  Colonel 
Penwin  waited  till  they  were  a  safe  distance  away  and 
then  he  backed  the  big  roan  horse  through  the  rear  door 
of  the  cabin  into  the  tall  grass;  and,  entering  the  Trail 
a  little  further  on,  he  followed  the  two  men.  In  his  haste 
he  had  not  noticed  little  Coke  Wren,  who  had  reached 
the  front  of  the  cabin  in  time  to  see  the  whole  maneuver. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  Wren  drawled.  "  Is  B.  Penwin  goin' 


A    PROPHECY  87 

down  to  worship  the  Lord  or  is  he  followin'  those  two 
men?  They  look  like  Dow  and  Branson,  from  up  towards 
the  Wakarusa.  And  Penwin  acts  for  all  the  world  like  a 
snake  wrigglin'  out  of  that  tall  grass  after  'em.  They  're 
real  Free-State  men,  too.  I  reckon  I  may  as  well  bring 
up  the  rear  of  this  doggoned  interestin'  procession. 
'  Last  of  all  come  Satan,'  Shakespeare,  or  John  Milton,  or 
some  other  Yankee  wrote,  or  maybe  it  was  in  the  Good 
Book.  Anyhow,  I  'm  '  it '  for  this  parade." 

And  so  they  all  came  into  Palmyra.  The  preaching 
was  in  the  upper  story  of  the  new  Palmyra  hotel.  The 
stairway  was  not  completed,  and  the  feet  of  the  wor 
shipers  stumbled  in  the  ascent.  There  were  no  walls 
as  yet  to  divide  the  second  floor  into  rooms.  The  seating 
was  a  rude  improvisation,  nothing  in  all  the  appointments 
suggested  the  sacred  temple  for  divine  service  except 
one  thing  —  the  preacher.  He  stood  beside  the  crazy 
little  table  that  held  his  Bible  and  hymn  book,  a  tall, 
dark-skinned  man,  thin,  and  full  of  nervous  energy.  His 
voice  was  pitched  in  an  upper  key,  and  his  words  came 
swiftly;  short,  sharp-pointed  words,  with  no  effort  at 
eloquence. 

The  settlers,  glad  of  the  opportunity  for  any  Sabbath 
service,  would  have  listened  to  any  grade  of  speaker 
with  eagerness.  But  this  man,  with  words  and  gestures 
peculiar  to  himself,  had  a  strange  magnetic  presence  that 
held  his  audience  spellbound.  His  text  was  that  wonder 
ful  law  of  ethics  given  in  the  Gospel  of  John,  "  Ye  shall 
know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free." 
He  was  not  preaching  in  a  quiet  little  church  in  some 
New  England  or  Virginia  hamlet,  but  to  men  and  women 
on  the  frontier  line  of  a  great  conflict,  the  vanguard  of 
a  generation  of  State  builders,  and  his  vision  grew  clear 
and  his  spirit  prophetic  as  the  message  of  the  day  came 


88  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

to  him.  It  was  his  first  appearance  west  of  the  Missouri 
River,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  Territory  had  come  from 
reading  and  testimony.  Now  he  faced  a  handful  of 
people  who  were  themselves  to  do  what  the  Eastern 
folk  had  only  dreamed  should  be  done.  And  as  he  looked 
at  them  he  trembled  under  the  power  of  the  Word  he 
must  speak. 

Caught  by  the  magnetism  of  his  voice  and  unique  per 
sonality,  the  company  listened  first  to  the  old  sweet 
story  of  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth,  the  common  man, 
a  day  laborer,  who  went  forth  against  his  world  of  bit 
terness,  and  hatred,  and  oppression,  and  darker  sins ;  who 
trod  the  wine  press  alone,  who  was  despised  and  rejected 
of  men,  who,  at  last,  in  agony  of  body  and  deep  soul 
sorrow,  climbed  his  Calvary  bearing  his  heavy  cross, 
giving  up  his  life,  his  last  supremest  sacrifice.  For  what ! 
Not  for  Himself,  nor  his  family,  nor  his  tribe,  nor  his 
nation,  but  that  down  through  all  the  cycles  of  the  cen 
turies  to  be,  the  whole  human  race  should  learn  from  Him 
its  highest  duty  and  opportunity. 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay 
down  his  life  for  his  friends."  The  preacher  whirled 
the  seventeen  short  words  into  the  very  souls  of  his 
hearers.  "  To  the  martyr  comes  the  crown  and  the  glory, 
and  not  to  him  who  'gleans  up  his  scattered  ashes  into 
history's  golden  urn.'  He  who  fights  and  wins  in  what 
the  world  would  call  sometimes  a  losing  game  is  build 
ing,  as  the  Man  of  Calvary  built,  a  wall  of  defense  for 
all  the  people  of  all  the  years  to  follow." 

And  then  the  preacher  came  straight  home  to  those 
who  sat  before  him. 

"  You  hold  to-day  a  land  of  beauty  and  promise.  You 
are  here  to  keep  from  these  grand  prairies  the  foul  sin 
that  debauches  not  only  those  who  father  it,  but  all  who 


A    PROPHECY  89 

inherit  it.  The  whole  world  is  the  worse  to-day  for  the 
sin  of  any  nation.  The  whole  world  is  uplifted  to-day  by 
the  courage  of  one  true  man,  one  noble  woman. 

"You  prairie  heroes,  you  men  who  have  chosen  to 
come  hither,  called  by  the  voice  of  God  Omnipotent,  ye 
shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free. 
Enslaved  as  the  most  ignorant  black  brute  in  man- 
form  who  grovels  in  the  ricefields  of  the  South,  more  ani 
mal  than  man,  made  animal  by  man,  is  that  slave  whom 
he  must  call  his  master.  Stand  up  as  freemen  in  a  free 
land  under  the  glory  of  an  unstained  flag,  even  the  Star- 
Spangled  Banner,  and  —  do  your  duty" 

The  preacher  paused,  and  his  searching  dark  eyes 
seemed  to  pierce  the  group  and  lay  bare  their  souls.  It 
was  a  wonderful  little  company,  measured  by  what  the 
years  were  about  to  bring  to  each.  The  men  were  gath 
ered  together  —  strong,  muscular,  coarsely  clad,  bearded 
or  unshaven,  save  for  two  or  three ;  the  women  in  a  little 
cluster  about  the  babies,  nearly  equalling  them  in  num 
ber;  and  back  of  these  the  young  people:  fresh-cheeked 
girls,  and  sturdy  boys,  tanned,  plainly  dressed,  but  with 
the  hope  and  eagerness  of  youth  in  their  faces. 

As  the  speaker's  eyes  took  in  the  crowd,  he  noted  them 
all  —  Hiram  Darrow,  with  the  clean-cut  features  of  his 
clean-shaven  face;  David  Lamond,  whose  strong,  manly 
countenance  no  man  could  ignore;  Coke  Wren,  with  his 
beady  little  eyes  cocked  at  the  preacher  expectantly  and 
kindly,  but  managing  at  the  same  time  to  know  how 
everybody  else  fared  about  him.  Patty  had  gone  down 
stairs  with  a  fretful  baby,  giving  its  frail,  inexperienced 
young  mother  her  first  real  hour  of  rest  since  she  had 
come  to  Kansas. 

"  I  reckon  ef  the  Lord  puts  babies  here  on  His  moral 
footstool  He  means  somebody  to  take  care  of  *em,"  Patty 


90  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

said  to  herself.  "  Ef  He  wants  workers  in  His  vineyard, 
He's  likewise  got  to  have  somebody  to  tend  the  gates 
an'  take  care  of  the  babies  of  that  vineyard.  Ef  I  keep 
this  sweet  little  thing  comfortable  an'  rest  its  ma,  I'm 
doin'  for  one  of  His'n,  all  right.  I'd  ruther  be  a  door 
keeper  er  baby-keeper  than  to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  the 
Phillisteens."  Patty's  Scripture  was  a  little  mixed,  but 
her  heart  was  straight. 

In  the  center  of  the  group  of  men  sat  John  Brown, 
listening  eagerly  as  if  the  sermon  were  meant  for  him 
alone.  About  him  were  four  stalwart  young  men  with 
earnest  faces  and  simple  bearing.  They  were  his  sons, 
who  had  come  west  with  the  same  dream  that  had 
brought  so  many  of  that  audience  across  the  Missouri 
River  into  Kansas  —  the  dream  of  liberty  for  all  men, 
free  homes  on  a  free  soil. 

The  two  horsemen,  Dow  and  Branson,  whom  Colonel 
Penwin  had  followed  into  Palmyra,  sat  in  the  rear  of  the 
room  beside  the  Colonel  himself,  who  had  come  in  last 
of  all. 

Among  the  women,  no  other  face  was  so  serenely  fair 
and  intelligent  as  the  face  of  the  Quaker  woman,  Isabel 
Darrow.  Any  stranger  would  have  singled  her  out  at 
once;  and  if  he  were  a  thoughtful  person  would  have 
noted  how  superior  to  the  others  that  fine  Madonna  face 
seemed  to  be.  If  the  same  stranger  had  cast  about  for 
those  who  belonged  to  her  there,  he  would  have  singled 
out  Elliot  at  once  as  her  son. 

But  no  one  in  all  the  motley  little  group  had  a  more 
sensitive  nor  more  impenetrable  countenance  than  Craig 
Penwin. 

The  preacher's  keen  gaze  swept  the  audience.  Then 
his  voice  became  wonderfully  gentle,  with  a  minor  chord 
of  pathos  that  struck  the  heart  strings  to  like  vibrations : 


A    PROPHECY  91 

"Men  and  women  of  Kansas,  my  soul  is  moved  to 
prophetic  power.  May  I  not,  I  who  am  only  a  man,  but 
a  man  chosen  this  day  to  speak  for  my  Father,  may  I 
not  tell  to  you  something  of  that  which  reveals  itself 
to  me  here  ?  " 

He  paused  again,  but  only  for  a  moment.  "I  see  a 
beautiful  land  of  sunshine  and  sweet  air,  a  land  of  oil, 
olive,  and  honey,  trampled  by  the  feet  of  foemen,  black 
ened  with  the  fires  of  burning  homes,  stained  with  human 
blood. 

"  I  see  before  me  here  the  men  and  women,  whom 
the  Truth  makes  free,  rise  up  in  God's  own  might,  girded 
with  His  strength,  to  arm  the  weak  and  fight  for  the 
defenseless.  I  see  the  man  who  shall  not  look  upon 
another  Sabbath  day,  martyr  to  the  world's  great  good. 
I  see  the  man  who  to-day  would  have  taken  his  life, 
but  dared  not.  I  see  the  man  clothed  in  the  garments 
of  peace,  who  shall  yet  do  a  great  work,  and  I  see  a 
greater  man,  the  greatest  of  you  all,  who  shall  see  farthest 
and  clearest  the  issue  of  the  hour.  Black  before  him 
will  be  the  way,  and  slippery  with  blood  the  steps  up 
which  he  must  stumble  to  his  own  doom.  Still  greatest 
is  he  for  that  he  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning,  aye,  sees 
beyond  all  these  —  the  every-day  common  things  of  com 
mon  men's  lives  —  the  glory  of  the  light  beyond  him 
such  that  earthly  eye  can  not  vision  nor  heart  of  man 
comprehend  its  beauty.  He  has  known  the  truth  and 
the  truth  shall  make  him  free. 

"And  these  young  men  and  women" — the  preacher's 
voice  grew  tenderer  still — "these  boys  and  girls,  I  see 
for  you  the  hard  straight  line  of  duty,  and  sacrifice,  of 
loyalty  and  love,  and  a  glorious  victory  in  days  of 
peace  that  shall  be  yours,  albeit  for  some  it  comes  not 


92  AWALLOFMEN 

this  side  of  the  open  grave.  Ye,  too,  shall  know  th« 
truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free." 

The  little  company  heard  only  in  a  bewildered  way  the 
prayer  that  closed  the  sermon.  They  knew  it  reached  to 
the  sublimest  heights  to  which  they  could  lift  their 
souls.  Must  it  not  then  reach  grandly  to  the  Throne  of 
Grace  ? 

Followed  then  the  closing  hymn: 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, 

His  wonders  to  perform; 
He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Judge  not  the   Lord  by  feeble  sense, 

But  trust  him  for  his  grace; 
Behind  a  frowning  providence, 

He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

Mark  Darrow,  who  had  listened  eagerly  to  the  ser 
mon,  took  no  part  in  the  singing.  But  in  all  the  little 
congregation  no  other  voice  rose  with  such  sweetness 
and  strength  as  the  voice  of  his  brother,  Elliot.  Quaker 
children  were  not  encouraged  in  singing  by  their  severely 
disciplined  parents  in  those  days,  and  Elliot's  power  was 
a  natural  gift.  He  sang  by  ear  and  instinct,  but  the 
richness  of  his  tones  put  the  last  measure  of  uplift  into 
that  strange  service. 

"Young  man,  you'll  win  a  battle  with  that  voice  of 
yours  some  day.  Sing  loud  and  clear  when  that  hour 
comes."  The  preacher  held  Elliot's  hand  long  and  gazed 
into  his  young  face. 

"  I  would  rather  win  with  song  than  with  bullets,"  the 
young  man  answered,  true  to  his  Quaker  principles. 

"  You  will  have  to  use  both  in  your  battles,  my  boy  — 
don't  be  afraid  of  either." 


A    PROPHECY  93 

Elliot  turned  to  see  David  Lamond's  frown  of  disap 
proval  at  his  words.  Lamond's  ideal  was  a  soldier.  But 
this  troubled  the  boy  not  half  so  much  as  the  sight  of 
Craig  Pen  win  helping  Beth  down  the  uncertain  footing 
of  the  stairway.  When  he  reached  the  street,  the  two 
were  already  some  distance  down  the  Trail  on  their 
homeward  way. 

Behind  him  came  Lucy  Penwin,  her  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

"  Craig  has  gone  off  and  left  me  to  go  home  alone,"  she 
said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  as  she  struggled  between  fear 
and  bravado.  She  had  caught  sight  of  her  father, 
although  he  had  slipped  away  at  the  first  moment,  and 
her  consciousness  of  her  disobedience  and  her  real  fear 
of  him,  a  thing  she  had  never  known  before,  and  her  new 
determination  to  have  her  own  way,  were  making  a  sad 
thing  of  the  day  for  her.  And  now  Craig  had  deserted 
her. 

"Never  mind  Craig,  Lucy,"  Mark  Darrow  declared 
over  her  shoulder.  "  I  've  not  got  much  use  for  brothers 
myself."  He  gave  Elliot  a  thump  as  he  passed. 

As  the  young  man  looked  after  the  four  going  down 
the  way,  a  loneliness  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  known 
robbed  that  Sabbath  day  for  him  of  all  the  sunshine 
Nature  had  so  richly  poured  into  it. 

With  the  evening,  a  gray,  sullen  cloud-bank  rose  up  in 
the  west,  and  the  breeze  that  had  blown  balmily  all  day 
from  the  warm  south  whirled  suddenly  around  to  the 
north,  whipping  angrily  down  the  land.  And  that  day, 
with  its  glorious  dawn  and  sunny  noon,  went  drearily 
into  night  —  even  as  the  day-dream  of  glorious  deeds  and 
heroic  endurance  gives  place  to  the  stern  reality  of  action. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  END  OF  DREAMS 

The  harvest  fields  are  whitening  in  the  sun, 
The  time  for  idle  dreaming  now  is  ended — 
The  time  for  earnest  faith  and  work  begun. 

—  Albert  W.  Macy. 

MID-NOVEMBER,  and  the  harvests  east  of  the 
Missouri  River  were  gathered  in.  Winter  would 
soon  make  heavy  roads  and  unfavorable  weather  for 
emigrants'  wagons  or  marching  ranks.  In  these  clear, 
sharp  days  now,  prairie  paths  were  firm  and  plundering 
easy  for  an  invading  force.  Often  after  that  fair  Sun 
day  morning  it  was  recalled  that  the  preacher  had  said : 
"I  see  one  among  you  who  shall  not  see  another  Sab 
bath  day."  The  words  then  had  seemed  only  like  words 
heard  in  dreams.  Before  another  Sabbath  morning 
dawned,  the  news  that  swept  the  Vinland  Valley  proved 
how  true  a  prophet  the  preacher  had  been. 

Late  in  that  week  Isabel  Darrow  stood  by  the  door 
way,  one  evening,  looking  anxiously  along  the  Trail 
toward  Palmyra. 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  Mark  so  long,"  she  said.  "I 
told  him  to  hurry  home,  and  now  it  will  soon  be  dark." 

"  I  '11  run  up  to  his  Darrarat  and  see  if  he  is  in  sight," 
little  Joe  offered. 

But  Elliot,  standing  behind  his  mother,  said: 

"No  use  to  do  that,  Joe.  He's  coming  yonder.  He 
and  Coke  Wren  on  one  horse.  I  saw  them  on  the  east 
ridge  a  minute  ago.  They  will  be  in  sight  again  in 

94 


THE     END     OF     DREAMS  95 

another  minute,  and  here  in  two  minutes  more.  Coke 's 
always  hunting  a  sprained  ankle  or  a  broken  arm  when 
he  rides." 

"Thee  has  wonderful  eyesight,  Elliot.  I  did  not  see 
them,"  Mrs.  Darrow  said. 

"'Cept  when  he's  hunting  for  his  own  faults.  He 
never  sees  them,"  Joe  complained.  "He  teases  me  some 
thing  scandulous,  Mother,  Elliot  does." 

"  Which  Joseph  likes  better  than  anything  else,"  Elliot 
declared,  picking  up  the  boy  and  standing  him  upside- 
down,  on  his  head. 

"  Do  it  again,  Ellie,"  Joe  begged. 

"I  can't  now,  I  must  be  looking  up  my  own  faults, 
Josiah,"  Elliot  answered,  playfully.  "Here  come  the 
conquering  heroes,  anyhow." 

Coke's  little  pony  fairly  tore  up  the  slope  to  the  cabin 
set  among  the  evergreens. 

"Oh,. mother,  it's  awful,"  Mark  cried,  as  soon  as  they 
were  within  the  hearing  of  those  waiting  at  the  door. 
"That  young  man  Dow,  that  I  sat  next  to  in  church 
Sunday,  has  been  shot  down  in  broad  daylight,  and  killed 
dead,  right  on  the  Trail,  by  a  man  that  lives  over  there. 
And  they  didn't  find  him  for  nearly  a  half  day.  Just 
left  him  lie  there  in  the  road.  He  wasn't  armed  at  all, 
and  that  man  slipped  up  behind  him  and  shot  him,  all 
defenceless  as  he  was.  Dow  was  Free-State  and  his  mur 
derer  is  a  Pro-Slavery.  He 's  cut  and  run  for  the  Shawnee 
Mission,  where  Governor  Shannon  is,  so  the  Governor 
will  protect  him,  and  Sheriff  Jones  lives  at  Westport, 
right  across  the  border,  and  he  can  guard  him.  Every 
body  in  Palmyra  is  talking  about  it.  Somebody  went  and 
burned  the  old  murderer's  cabin  last  night.  Wish  he  had 
been  in  it." 

"Mark,  Mark,  don't  speak  so,"  Isabel  urged.    "They 


96  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

had  no  right  to  burn  any  man's  property.    Would  thee 
be  a  murderer,  too,  like  this  man?" 

"  Yes,  I  would.    I  'd  kill  him." 

Mark's  blood  was  on  fire,  so  his  mother  wisely  let  him 
explode  his  forces,  and  turned  to  Wren. 

"What  will  come  next?"  she  asked. 

"The  Good  Bein'  only  knows,  and  I  hope  He  cares," 
Wren  answered.  "Ef  He  don't  we're  lost.  The  man 
that  killed  Dow,  his  own  neighbor,  will  never  be  brought 
to  trial.  There  ain't  no  law  in  Kansas,  nor  no  governor, 
nor  no  sheriff,  no  federal  power,  no  right,  no  justice,  no 
protection,  no  safety,  no  life.  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Darrow, 
with  God  Almighty  backin'  us,  we've  got  to  stand  up 
like  a  wall  of  men,  with  strength  in  ourselves,  His 
strength,  not  our'n,  and  be  a  law  unto  ourselves,  ef  we 
ever  git  this  here  land  pulled  out  of  hell  —  excuse  me  for 
the  word.  I  mean  the  one  that 's  in  the  Good  Book,  not 
the  cuss  word  —  an'  it's  about  the  latitude  and  longi 
tude  we  're  in  right  now.  But  we  '11  git  out,  Land  o'  Nut 
megs!  We  ain't  the  sons  of  our  sires  for  nothin*.  Tell 
Darrow  for  him  and  Elliot  to  be  ready  when  the  call 
comes  for  that.  Git  up,  Cotton  Mather.  You  can't  stand 
here  on  your  lazy  legs  all  night.  Good  evenin'." 

And  giving  his  bridle  a  twist,  the  little  man  was  off 
for  his  home  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine. 

As  Coke  predicted,  no  effort  was  made  to  punish  the 
man  who  had  done  this  murderous  deed,  and  the  settle 
ments  along  the  whole  eastern  border  were  in  excitement 
and  anger  and  dread. 

In  the  Vinland  Valley  the  settlers  had  much  cause  for 
anxiety.  Burning  the  cabin  of  Dow's  murderer  had  been 
a  rash  act,  but  it  gave  the  enemies  of  the  Free-State 
people  their  opportunity,  and  no  man  who  opposed 
slavery  in  Kansas  felt  that  his  life  or  property  was  safe. 


THE    END    OF    DREAMS  97 

In  the  dusk  of  the  'evening,  three  days  after  Mark  had 
brought  the  news  from  Palmyra,  Isabel  Darrow  saw  a 
little  group  of  armed  horsemen  riding  swiftly  down  the 
Trail  from  the  east.  Hiram  had-  gone  with  Coke  Wren 
to  Lawrence  to  urge  some  plan  of  protection  for  the  homes 
in  the  Vinland  Valley.  Isabel  did  not  like  the  appear 
ance  of  these  armed  men,  but  when  they  turned  aside 
and  dashed  up  to  the  front  door  of  the  cabin  she  went 
fearlessly  to  meet  them.  Their  air  of  bravado  fell  away 
before  her  presence.  Bullies  though  they  were,  they 
had  not  any  warrant  to  act  here. 

"We  wanted  to  ask  where  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin 
lives,"  Sheriff  Jones,  the  leader,  said. 

"  Thee  will  have  to  turn  back  a  mile  and  take  the  first 
trail  to  the  southwest,"  Isabel  said  kindly,  stepping  for 
ward  to  point  out  the  way.  Sheriff  Jones  lifted  his  hat 
to  her ;  but  whisky  will  do  much  for  a  bully,  and  one  man 
so  fortified  urged  his  horse  past  the  Sheriff's  toward  her. 

"  You  are  a  blamed  handsome  woman,"  he  said  insult 
ingly.  "Are  you  all  alone?" 

She  was  not  alone.  A  stalwart  form  was  in  the  door 
way  behind  her,  rising  head  and  shoulders  above  her,  a 
face  as  handsome  as  the  woman's  face,  and  fully  as  white 
and  fearless,  appeared  suddenly  in  the  twilight.  Before 
Elliot  Darrow  could  speak,  a  cut  from  the  Sheriff's  whip 
made  the  bully's  horse  leap  aside,  and  the  whole  party 
sped  away  in  the  evening  shadows  down  the  Trail. 

Late  that  night  Mark  and  Elliot  sat  alone  by  the  fire, 
when  Mark  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"Elliot,  let  me  tell  you  something  that  Lucy  told  me 
Sunday.  Lucy  is  a  funny  girl.  She 's  not  a  bit  like  Beth. 
She 's  nicer,  I  think." 

"All  right.    What  did  she  say?"  Elliot  asked. 

"Say,  Ellie,  you  won't  tell,  will  you?"  Mark  queried. 


98  AWALLOFMEN 

"I  am  not  likely  to  to-night,  anyhow,  for  it  takes  a 
week  for  you  to  get  it  out  of  your  own  system." 

"Well,  well,  Lucy  is  just  like  her  father.  She  goes 
to  pieces  so  quick.  Craig's  got  all  the  self-control  in  the 
family."  Mark  paused,  but  Elliot  said  nothing. 

"  You  know  the  Penwins  lived  pretty  fine  in  the  South. 
Lucy  says  they  spent  lots  of  money,  and  her  father  is  n't 
happy  if  he  can't  just  have  everything  luxurious  and 
spend  all  he  wants  to.  That  was  partly  why  they  left 
Georgia.  They  had  some  financial  trouble  or  other." 

"Is  that  why  he  came  to  Kansas?  Gloriously  luxuri 
ous  living  here,  I  should  say,"  Elliot  put  in. 

"  Lucy  is  impulsive,  cries  easy,  and  laughs  easy,  and 
she  just  can't  keep  a  secret.  Going  home  Sunday  she 
said  her  father  had  told  her  and  Craig  and  Tarley  not 
to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  us  or  Lamonds  or 
Wrens." 

"Good.  What  are  Craig  and  Lucy  and  Tarley  going 
to  do?"  Elliot  did  not  seem  so  very  much  distressed. 

"  Oh,  they  were  going  to  just  pay  no  attention  to  him, 
but  Lucy  was  scared  Sunday,  for  her  father  told  them 
not  to  go  to  church,  and  they  went,  and  then  she  was 
scared  for  fear  Colonel  Penwin  would  do  something 
awful  because  I  went  home  with  her." 

"What  did  he  say?"  Elliot  asked. 

"Nothing!  I  met  him  just  as  I  was  starting  home, 
and  I  lifted  my  old  cap  and  said  '  Good  afternoon.' " 

Elliot  smiled  at  the  boy's  coolness. 

"He  just  lifted  his  hat,  like  a  born  gentleman,  not  a 
Kansas  made  one,  and  said  '  Good  afternoon,  sir.'  Craig 's 
a  born  gentleman,  too.  I  saw  Lucy  at  the  store  in  Pal 
myra  to-day  and  she  said  she  was  so  glad  her  father  has 
changed  again  and  told  them  it's  all  right. 

"What's  all  right?" 


THE    END    OF    DREAMS  99 

"  Oh,  now,  Ellie,  it 's  all  right  for  us  all  to  go  nutting 
together  and  to  church,  and  for  Craig  to  go  home  with 
Beth,  same  as  you  do.  Now,  do  you  understand?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"Then  shut  up,"  Mark  snapped,  and  both  were  silent. 

Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  did  not  make  known  to  his 
children  the  cause  for  his  sudden  change  of  heart,  when 
he  reversed  his  own  decision  with  them.  He  had  always 
been  implicitly  obeyed  and  extravagantly  loved  by  his 
family.  It  had  been  an  extraordinary  shock  to  him  to 
find  his  children  openly  disregarding  his  commands,  as 
it  had  been  a  shock  to  them  when  they  found  they  dared 
to  do  it.  His  first  impulse  was  to  bring  down  a  storm 
of  wrath  upon  their  heads.  It  was  Tarleton,  his  young 
est  born,  who  had  shown  him  a  better  way. 

The  Colonel  had  ridden  home  from  the  church  service 
at  Palmyra  determined  to  bring  his  children  to  judg 
ment.  But  as  he  neared  the  house  the  sight  of  little 
Tarley  sitting  forlornly  alone  by  the  wayside,  waiting 
for  him,  broke  up  all  parental  resolve. 

"  Come,  baby,"  he  said,  affectionately,  "  were  you  wait 
ing  for  me?  "  He  helped  the  boy  to  the  saddle  bow. 

"  You,  or  Craig,  or  Lucy ; "  Tarley's  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  "  I  'm  so  lonely.  I  don't  have  anybody  any  more." 

"  That 's  so,  Tarley,"  his  father  said,  soothingly.  "  You 
don't  disobey  like  Lucy  and  Craig,  do  you?" 

"Why  don't  you  'tend  like  what  they  do  is  what  you 
want  them  to  do,  papa?"  Tarley  asked,  innocently. 
"I've  got  lots  of  things  from  Craig  that  I  wanted  by 
pretending  like  I  didn't  care  for  them." 

"  By  George,  Tarley,  that 's  good  philosophy.  I  believe 
I  '11  try  it." 

He  kissed  the  boy  tenderly  as  he  lifted  him  from  the 
horse,  and  sent  him  into  the  house.  Could  Tarley  have 


100  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

seen  his  father's  face  then  he  would  have  been  shocked 
at  the  storm  reflected  there.  Sorrow,  love,  remorse,  and 
bitter  hate,  —  soul  passions  —  surging  in  strife  on  the 
battle  ground  of  that  finely  featured  countenance.  Coke 
Wren  was  right  in  saying  there  is  no  other  burden  equal 
to  the  burden  of  packing  around  with  one  every  day  the 
man  whom  he  despises. 

This,  then,  was  how  it  happened  that  Boniface  Penwin 
had  greeted  Mark  Darrow  with  genuine  Southern  cour 
tesy  when  he  had  escorted  Lucy  home  from  Palmyra, 
and  the  same  principle  had  led  the  father  to  say  at 
dinner : 

"Children,  you  must  get  lonely.  I  don't  care  if  you 
do  make  companions  to  a  degree,  of  course,  with  the 
Lamonds  and  Darrows.  But  keep  in  mind  who  you  are 
and  that  your  father  and  theirs  can  never  be  very 
friendly." 

Lucy  had  greeted  her  father's  words  with  a  shout  of 
joy  and  hugged  him  lovingly.  Craig  said  not  a  word, 
and  Colonel  Penwin  felt  for  the  first  time  that  his  eldest- 
born  had  gotten  from  him,  and  that  his  authority  would 
be  accepted  at  Craig's  discretion,  not  through  his  par 
ental  power.  And  the  Colonel  was  not  happier  thereby. 

Whether  or  not  Sheriff  Jones  meant  to  enlist  Boniface 
Penwin  in  the  seizure  of  Branson,  he  left  the  impression 
with  the  Darrow  family  that  that  had  been  his  purpose, 
and  the  thought  of  it  widened  further  still  the  breach 
between  Craig  and  Elliot. 

The  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  on  the  hard,  white  Trail 
came  faintly  to  the  ears  of  the  two  boys  sitting  silently 
before  the  fire. 

"I  wonder  who  that  can  be?"  Mark  said.  "Here's 
me  for  my  outlook  aloft,"  and  he  clawed  his  way  up  the 
log  angle  to  his  Darrarat  nook. 


THE    END    OF    DREAMS  101 

Three-quarters  of  a  November  moon  was  shining  white 
and  cold  overhead. 

"  For  the  love  of  George  Fox  and  Isaac  Pennington, 
Elliot  Darrow,  it's  Lamond's  black  horse,  and  Beth  is 
on  it.  Run  quick;  she's  coming  here." 

Elliot  did  not  wait  for  the  last  words.  He  was  out  in 
the  white,  cold  moonlight  before  the  horse  and  rider  had 
reached  the  evergreens'  shadows.  The  animal  rushed 
up  the  slope  and  straight  to  where  he  stood,  and  Beth 
slid  quickly  to  the  ground. 

"Oh,  Elliot,"  she  gasped,  and  then  the  evergreens 
swam  before  her. 

Elliot  would  have  caught  her  in  his  arms  to  steady  her, 
but  she  was  herself  in  a  moment.  Mark  came  quickly  to 
the  bridle  rein. 

"  Take  her  in  the  house,  Elliot.    I  '11  hold  Pluto." 

Elliot  felt  her  shiver  as  he  led  her  into  the  dark  hall, 
lighted  only  by  the  red  glow  down  in  the  center.  How 
cosy  a  thing  a  rough  stone  fireplace  can  be  when  the 
light  is  low  and  the  outside  world  is  cold!  Beth  was 
chilled  by  the  sharp  November  night  air  and  the  sharper 
fear  that  had  come  with  her  ride.  Elliot  put  her  in 
Hiram  Darrow's  big  warm-cushioned  chair  and  waited 
for  her  to  speak.  How  strong  he  looked,  standing  there  in 
the  vigor  of  his  young  manhood !  How  firm-knit  his  frame, 
how  easy  his  motions,  and  gentle  the  touch  of  his  hand ! 
And,  above  all,  how  handsome  the  fine  face  with  the 
heavy  dark  hair,  the  keen  dark  eyes,  and  the  winning 
smile!  A  face  that  more  than  one  woman  would  love 
and  dream  of  in  the  years  to  come.  And  then  the  cabin 
seemed  so  strong  and  safe  from  the  dangers  outside. 
These  things  came  half  realized  into  Beth's  mind. 

As  for  Elliot,  he  had  forgotten  how  unhappy  he  had 
been  a  week  ago.  He  knew  that  Beth  was  there,  that 


102  AWALLOFMEN 

some  trouble  was  very  near,  and  the  chickens  were  crow 
ing  at  some  far-away  settler's  habitation,  and  that  he 
was  very  glad  for  all  of  these  things. 

Beth  gave  one  great  sigh  of  comfort. 

"  I  was  so  frightened,  I  could  n't  talk  at  first,"  she  said. 
"  I  must  hurry  back  home,  for  mother  is  alone  and  scared 
as  I  am.  But  I  'm  all  right  now."  The  warm  color  had 
come  to  her  pale  cheeks.  "  It  was  that  Indian." 

"What  Indian,  in  heaven's  name,  Beth?  And  what 
brings  you  here?"  Elliot  spoke  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Elliot,  I  am  helping  father  to  spread  the  news. 
I  went  to  three  other  places  before  I  came  up  here,  and 
right  at  the  edge  of  the  timber,  up  that  little  draw,  an 
Indian  came  out,  and  I  thought  he  started  after  me.  He 
rode  like  it.  I  could  see  his  blanket  and  the  feathers  in 
his  hair.  But  Pluto  outran  him." 

"Beth,  Indians  don't  ride  at  night.  Are  you  sure  it 
was  an  Indian?"  Elliot  asked. 

"Oh,  I  thought  so.  Maybe  I  was  too  scared."  She 
could  not  help  smiling  at  herself,  and  her  courage  took  a 
new  grip.  "Father  has  gone  with  a  crowd  of  men  to 
save  a  man's  life.  Sheriff  Jones  and  a  gang  of  despera 
does  went  to  Mr.  Branson's  house  with  a  warrant  for  his 
arrest  to-night,  and  they  have  taken  him  away.  Branson 
was  the  friend  of  Dow,  the  man  murdered  last  week. 
The  pro-slavery  men  have  some  flimsy  excuse  for 
having  him  arrested,  and  they  will  kill  him  as  soon 
as  they  get  the  chance.  All  the  settlers  over  that  way 
are  after  the  Sheriff's  gang.  There  are  only  a  few 
Free-State  men  west  of  us,  and  there  is  no  telling 
what  will  happen." 

Beth  tried  to  be  brave,  but  her  voice  faltered  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Elliot  longed  to  take  her  in  his 
arms,  but  he  controlled  himself. 


THE    END     OF    DREAMS  103 

"  I  won't  play  the  fool  every  time  I  have  the  chance." 
he  said  to  himself.  Then  to  her  he  spoke  assuringly. 

"  Yes,  there  is  some  telling  what  will  happen  if  David 
Lamond  is  in  the  company.  There  will  be  plenty  of 
things  happening  every  minute." 

"  But  father  said  he  had  sent  word  to  your  father  and 
Coke  Wren  to  meet  them  at  Abbott's  place,  and  they  will 
all  be  together." 

"Well,  Beth,  my  father  is  the  peace-lovingest  man 
that  ever  came  out  of  the  old  Indiana  White  Water 
Quaker  Yearly  Meeting,  as  we  used  to  say  back  there,  but 
I  wouldn't  want  to  be  Sheriff  Jones  if  Hiram  Darrow 
wanted  what  he  had  bad  enough  to  go  after  it.  He's 
no  Scotchman,"  Elliot's  eyes  twinkled,  "and  he  never 
carried  a  gun  in  his  life.  We  Quakers  are  not  soldiers; 
but  he's  not  a  man  to  trifle  with,  as  I  found  out  long 
ago." 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  no  danger  to-night ;  but  what  I 
am  to  do  is  to  tell  everybody  to  go  up  to  Lawrence 
to-morrow.  There  will  be  trouble,  and  nobody  knows 
what  awful  thing  may  happen  next.  They  want  all 
the  men  to  go  to  Lawrence  as  soon  as  they  can  get  there 
to-morrow  morning.  I  must  go  now." 

"Wait  a  minute  till  I  tell  mother  where  I  am  going, 
and  I  '11  go  home  with  you.  Who  else  is  to  be  notified?  " 

"  You  are  the  last  ones.  Hadn't  you  better  stay  here? 
I  can  make  Pluto  fly  over  the  prairie  going  home.  I  am 
not  afraid,  now  truly.  You'd  better  not  leave  your 
mother  alone,"  Beth  urged. 

"  And  you  'd  better  not  say  that  mother  would  be  alone 
where  Mark  can  hear  you,"  Elliot  said,  smiling.  "  Mark 
is  a  game-cock  in  his  own  eyes.'* 

The  night  was  crisp  and  clear.  The  white  Trail  glis 
tened  in  the  dim,  frosty  light,  but  the  spirit  of  peace  was 


104  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

gone  from  the  land,  and  the  two  hurried  along  the  way, 
leading  the  big  black  horse  after  them. 

At  the  Lamond's  cabin  Elliot  waited  a  little  before  he 
said  good-by.  The  dead  vines  rattled  drearily  about  the 
stone  pillars  now,  and  there  was  no  genial  air  to  make 
the  night  pleasant. 

"Are  you  going  to  Lawrence,  too?"  Beth  asked  as 
Elliot  turned  to  say  good-night.  "  You  won't  leave  your 
mother,  will  you?  " 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  start  early.  Mother  is  the  most 
fearless  woman  I  ever  saw.  And  as  I  said  at  home,  Mark 
will  be  there,  arid  Joe,  too.  Don't  forget  Joe.  The  days 
do  change  patterns  here,  don't  they,  Beth?" 

He  had  taken  her  hand.  It  was  cold,  and  he  held  it  a 
moment  in  his  warm  palm. 

"  Beth,"  he  spoke  gently.  "  I  am  so  sorry  and  ashamed 
for  what  I  did  that  I  had  no  right  to  do  the  last  night  I 
was  here.  I  mean  that  moonlight  night  in  October." 

"For  what  you  told  Craig?"  Beth  said  coldly. 

The  sting  of  the  young  Southerner's  words  was  bitter 
again  in  her  memory.  And  then  her  pulse  beat  fast,  for 
Elliot  was  very  near  her  and  his  touch  was  so  gentle, 
yet  so  strong.  She  was  angry  that  she  cared  at  all  for 
what  he  might  say  to  her,  since  he  had  spoken  so  care 
lessly  of  her.  She  just  wanted  everything  to  go  back 
and  be  as  it  had  been  once. 

"  Let 's  forget  and  start  over."  Her  voice  would  trem 
ble. 

"I  cannot  forget  nor  start  over,"  Elliot  answered, 
frankly.  "  But  I  never  told  Craig  anything.  Did  he  say 
I  did?" 

Beth  could  not  have  said  a  word  more  in  explanation. 
She  was  but  a  timid  girl  in  things  like  these. 

"I  am  sorry  you  try  to  deny  anything,"  she  said, 


THE    END     OF    DREAMS  105 

firmly,  trying  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  Elliot  held  it 
fast  and  took  her  other  hand  as  well. 

"  Beth,  Beth,"  his  voice  was  deep  and  sweet  and  he 
looked  down  steadily  into  her  face.  "  I  never  told  Craig 
anything.  I  haven't  anything  to  deny.  Good-night," 
and  he  left  her. 

The  little  November  moon  was  covered  with  gray 
clouds  and  the  night  was  very  cold.  Elliot  did  not  fol 
low  the  Trail,  but,  as  was  his  custom,  took  the  shortest 
line  across  the  open  prairie  toward  a  light  glimmering 
like  a  beacon  faintly  to  the  eastward. 

"  Mark  must  have  put  a  lantern  up  in  his  Darrarat  for 
me,"  he  said.  "  He 's  a  good  boy  to  think  of  it.  I  don't 
need  any  light,  but  it  is  a  friendly  thing  to  see." 

Far  and  wide  there  was  no  other  light  on  the  plain, 
swept  by  the  drear  November  wind,  and  the  world  looked 
big  and  dull  and  lonely.  Down  in  a  shallow  draw,  where 
sometimes  after  rainy  weather  a  little  stream  ran  toward 
the  ravine,  a  few  rock  layers  jutted  out,  making  a  darker 
spot  of  shade.  Even  in  the  dim  light  Elliot's  quick  eye 
noted  that  the  shade  was  too  big  for  the  rock,  and  he 
started  toward  the  place. 

"  It  looks  like  somebody  lying  there,  but  —  it  isn't,"  he 
thought.  "It's  a  bed  quilt.  No,  it's  a  blanket,  and  a 
hole.  Somebody  has  been  digging  here." 

He  stooped  and  lifted  a  coarse  dark  blanket  from  the 
ground.  Three  or  four  white  turkey  quills  were  sticking 
in  its  rough  meshes. 

"Beth's  Indian!"  he  exclaimed.  "Is  that  White  Tur 
key  Delaware  running  loose  down  here  or  is  somebody 
playing  Indian?  From  all  I  ever  heard  of  them,  the  Dela- 
wares  don't  put  up  this  kind  of  a  trick  at  night.  But 
you  can't  tell.  Maybe  he  was  digging  for  some  hidden 
treasure." 


106  AWALLOFMEN 

He  rolled  the  blanket  up  and  threw  it  under  the  rock 
shelf. 

"Some  poor,  cold  settler  might  find  that  and  take  it 
home,  and  fight  vermin  or  worse  for  a  year.  The  Indians 
are  a  dirty  lot.  I  '11  hide  it  under  there  till  later.  Maybe 
this  White  Turkey  left  the  rest  of  his  raiment  some 
where  out  here,  too,  and  went  home  this  cold  night  wear 
ing  only  his  warpaint  and  a  vengeful  expression.  I'll 
come  back  by  daylight  and  look  for  it  soon." 

Elliot  had  not  only  a  plainsman  range  of  vision,  he  had 
the  sense  of  hearing  that  goes  with  it.  As  he  reached 
the  top  of  the  swell  beyond  the  dip  in  the  prairie,  he 
heard  far  away  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet.  He  listened ; 
then  put  his  ear  to  the  ground  to  get  the  direction.  The 
sounds  grew  fainter,  and  were  lost  in  the  west  some 
where. 

"If  Coke  Wren  wasn't  at  Lawrence  to-night  I  would 
say  that  was  his  pony,  Cotton  Mather.  It  has  such  a 
funny  hop.  But  he  didn't  ride  the  pony;  he  went  with 
father  and  some  Palmyra  men." 

Elliot  was  puzzled.  "  It  could  n't  be  Patty.  And  yet 
it's  hard  to  tell  what  that  little  pigeon  will  do.  Oh, 
well,  it  may  be  anybody  —  the  Indian,  likely,  hunting  his 
blanket  or  his  tepee.  It 's  going  west,  whatever  it  is." 

Elliot  stood  still  on  the  top  of  the  swell  and  looked  out 
over  the  Vinland  Valley,  a  shadowy  land  lying  like  a 
dim  sea  reaching  on  to  the  limit  of  blank  darkness.  He 
recalled  with  wonderful  keenness  the  warm,  lazy  after 
noon  in  October  when  he  and  Beth  and  Craig  had  sat 
through  the  hour  looking  out  on  this  same  valley,  so  dull 
and  cold  to-night. 

"  Beth  was  right,"  he  murmured,  half  aloud.  "  Every 
day  brings  its  new  pattern  to  be  worked  out,  and  we 
are  changing  every  day.  I  wonder  where  Craig  is  to- 


THE    END     OF    DREAMS  107 

night.  Beth  didn't  go  over  to  Penwin's,  too,  when  she 
came  to  give  us  word  of  to-morrow's  work.  And  yet  she 
thinks  of  Craig,  I  know,  or  she  wouldn't  quote  him  so 
much." 

He  gazed  eagerly  down  to  where  the  heaviest  shadows 
far  away  marked  Lamond's  little  stone  cabin  in  the 
valley. 

"There  is  something  wrong  about  the  Penwins.  The 
Colonel  is  bitter  against  all  of  us  because  we  are  Aboli 
tionists,  but  somehow  none  of  us  blame  Craig.,  Where 
would  he  stand  if  the  test  comes?  Not  with  us,  I'm 
sure." 

The  young  man  turned  to  go,  half  consciously  waving 
his  hand  toward  the  Lamond  home. 

"  Good-by,  Beth.  I  wish  I  knew  what  Craig  could 
have  said.  I  've  always  thought  him  honorable,  even  if 
I  don't  like  him.  I  wish  I  knew,  too,  how  much  she 
cares  for  him." 

Then  he  set  his  teeth  together  and  a  stern  look  came 
into  his  dark  eyes. 

"I  may  as  well  face  the  truth.  There  isn't  anybody 
else  in  the  world  like  Beth.  Will  she  ever  think  the  same 
of  me?  She  must.  I  can  wait,  but  I  will  win." 

He  threw  a  kiss  toward  the  shadowed  valley  and 
started  on  his  way. 

"  What  will  happen  up  at  Lawrence?  "  he  mused.  "  We 
are  through  with  talking  now  out  here.  We  must  be 
doing  things.  I  wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  be  back 
East  again.  I  had  a  kind  of  a  sweetheart  there  last  year. 
I  had  about  forgotten  her,  for  she  wasn't  a  real  sweet 
heart,  either.  That  was  before  I  knew  Beth.  There 
isn't  any  of  this  trouble  in  Indiana,  but  I  wouldn't  go 
back  there  if  I  could." 

And  the  young  man,  striding  through  the  gloom  of 


108  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  night,  gave  greater  promise  of  what  should  rule  a 
State  than  rows  of  cannon  on  stoutest  breastwork  could 
offer. 

Meanwhile  far  in  the  west  the  pattering  feet  of  Coke's 
pony,  Cotton  Mather,  clicked  hard  on  the  Trail  as  its 
rider  urged  it  toward  the  deepening  gloom  of  the  horizon. 

Elliot  had  guessed  right.  It  was  Patty  Wren  alone 
on  the  dark  trail  along  which  strange  drunken  horsemen 
had  so  recently  ridden. 

"  I  can  outrun  'em,  or  I  can  dodge  'em,  and  I  want  to 
know  now,  does  enybody  reckon  I'd  let  a  lone  woman 
be  left  scared  to  death,  and  me  just  set  there  on  the  edge 
of  that  ravine  like  a  guinea  that  had  stole  'd  her  nest?  I 
ain't  that  kind  of  a  chicken.  Ef  we  want  liberty  here, 
we  'd  better  be  doin'  somethin'  for  it." 

Patty  talked  to  herself  and  she  had  the  same  drawl 
that  marked  Coke's  provincial  tongue.  But  if  she  was 
slow  of  speech,  she  was  swift  in  action.  An  hour  before 
she  had  been  riding  on  the  same  errand  that  had  sent 
Beth  to  the  Darrow  home.  As  she  returned  to  her  little 
cabin  the  thought  of  Coke  made  her  lonely.  And  then 
the  thought  of  her  loneliness  if  Coke  should  never  come 
again,  made  vivid  to  her  what  this  night  must  mean  to 
a  frightened  woman  miles  away,  whose  husband  was  even 
then  in  the  hands  of  a  brutal  gang  under  pretence  of 
arrest  by  Sheriff  Jones. 

"Poor  Mis'  Branson!  And  them  men  may  kill  Bran 
son  to-night.  I'd  put  on  my  brown  alpacky  dress  and 
go  to  his  funeral  to-morrow.  I'll  just  tie  my  hood 
on  tight  and  go  to  her  this  night.  Lord  save  me  ef 
I  don't." 

So  that  was  how  it  happened  that  Elliot  had  heard 
Cotton  Mather's  feet  on  the  Trail.  And  that  was  why  a 
terror-stricken  woman  alone  in  her  cabin  saw  God's 


THE    END     OF     DREAMS  109 

providence  come  in  the  form  of  a  settler's  funny  little 
peaked-face  wife. 

"  There  was  a  big  crowd  of  men  here  yesterday.  Free- 
State  men,  planning  how  to  avenge  the  murder  of  Mr. 
Dow,  but  there  was  nobody  to  help  us  this  night  when 
we  were  all  alone.  The  Sheriff  and  his  men  rushed  in 
here  after  we  had  gone  to  bed."  Mrs.  Branson  told  Patty 
this  in  the  early  morning  hours  as  the  two  sat  alone  in 
the  dark  cabin,  afraid  to  have  a  light.  "They  took  my 
husband  away  with  them.  He  didn't  even  have  time  to 
put  on  clothes  enough  to  keep  him  warm.  They  started 
off  north.  I  don't  know  what  they'll  do."  She  wrung 
her  hands  in  grief.  "  They  had  a  warrant  to  arrest  him. 
He  never  harmed  a  man  in  his  life." 

"And  neither  ain't  he  goin'  to  be  harmed,  Mis'  Bran 
son,"  Patty  said,  soothingly.  "The  settlers  clear  from 
Lawrence  to  Palmyra  will  be  up  in  arms.  They'll  git 
your  man  away  from  that  Sheriff's  ruffians  soon  or  late, 
an'  there  won't  be  a  hair  or  hide  of  him  hurt.  He  won't 
be  put  in  no  jail." 

"  I  'm  afraid  the  men  will  kill  him  first,"  moaned  Mrs. 
Branson. 

"  No,  they  won't.  No,  they  won't,"  urged  Patty,  strok 
ing  the  woman's  hand  with  her  smooth,  hard  little  claw. 
"  They 's  a  Good  Bein'  won't  let  'em." 

And  Patty  was  right.  A  dozen  men,  fully  half  of  them 
unarmed,  but  none  of  them  afraid,  who  had  heard  the 
news  that  night,  had  gathered  in  the  path  of  the  Sheriff 
and  his  victim.  The  bitter  air  chilled  them,  but  the  need 
for  action  kept  their  hearts  warm.  Winthrop  Meiriford 
was  in  command  of  the  company,  with  David  Lamond 
aiding  him.  Coke  Wren  and  Hiram  Darrow,  without 
weapons  of  any  kind,  were  the  least  fearful  of  the  out 
come. 


110  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

"They're  comin',  boys,"  Coke  spoke  low.  "I  hear 
'em  down  south.  Reckon  they  think  if  they  can  git 
Branson  up  to  Lecompton  they  '11  have  him  safe." 

The  men  huddled  together  as  they  waited  beside  a 
settler's  homestead. 

"Steady,  boys;  don't  fire  unless  you  have  to,"  Merri- 
ford  commanded. 

"  But  if  there  must  be  a  war  let  it  begin  here,"  David 
Lamond  added,  remembering  the  Minute  Men  of  '75  on 
the  Lexington  Common. 

Down  the  road  came  the  sound  of  horses'  feet.  With 
curses  and  coarse  jeers,  with  whisky  bottles  and  swinging 
rope  ends  suggesting  torture  and  death,  an  irregular 
squad  of  a  score  or  more  of  armed  men  hurried  through 
the  dark  toward  the  house  beside  which  the  little  group 
stood.  In  the  midst  of  this  mob  was  their  prisoner,  so 
thinly  clad  he  seemed  almost  exhausted  with  the  cold. 
For  miles  he  had  heard  nothing  but  threats  and  taunts, 
until  at  last,  when  the  Sheriff  declared,  "You'll  never 
see  the  inside  of  any  jail,"  Branson  had  answered,  "  Let 
it  come  quick,  then." 

"We  don't  need  to  be  quick  with  this  hangin',"  the 
man  next  the  Sheriff  exclaimed,  with  an  oath.  "There 
was  a  hundred  men  at  your  house  yesterday  bragging 
of  what  they  'd  do  to  us  fellows,  but  you  've  got  no  friends 
to  help  you  now,  and  if  you  had  we  could  put  a  hundred 
of  them  on  the  run  in  two  minutes.  Every  man  here's 
good  for  three  Free-State  men  at  least." 

They  were  near  the  cabin  now,  and  the  little  group  of 
men  showed  dimly  in  the  gray  light.  The  score  and 
more  good-for-three-men  each  fronted  the  half-score  and 
two,  and  the  test  of  courage  was  on. 

"Ride  on  t'other  side  of  the  house,  and  ride  hard," 
ordered  Sheriff  Jones,  and  the  band  obeyed. 


THE    END     OF    DREAMS  111 

But  before  them  on  the  other  side  of  the  cabin  the 
settlers  again  lined  up. 

The  horsemen  halted. 

"  What 's  up?  "  demanded  Jones. 

"That's  what  we  want  to  know  —  what's  up?"  Mer- 
riford  answered,  and  then  he  asked: 

"Is  Mr.  Branson  with  you?" 

"  I  am  here,  a  prisoner."    Branson  spoke  now. 

"Ride  out  to  our  side,"  Merriford  commanded,  and 
Branson  obeyed. 

There  were  only  a  dozen  men  on  foot,  half  of  them 
without  weapons,  and  they  stood  before  twice  that  num 
ber  of  armed  men  on  horseback.  But  men  are  not 
counted  by  numbers  when  they  stand  up  as  a  wall  in 
defence  of  the  right. 

"  I  '11  shoot  you  if  you  move,"  Sheriff  Jones  roared  at 
Branson.  "  I'll  bring  two  thousand  men  here  from  Mis 
souri  in  two  days.  There  won't  be  a  man  left  of  you. 
We  '11  hang  you  all  and  burn  your  houses  and  paint  your 
wives  black  and  sell  'em  for  niggers."  Jones  was  in  a 
fury  now;  while  a  volley  of  oaths  and  a  belching  forth 
of  direst  threats  of  vengeance,  degradation,  and  torture 
made  chorus  to  his  solo.  But  not  a  Free-State  settler 
flinched. 

"Go  your  way.  We  are  done  with  you,"  Merriford 
declared,  as  he  drew  off  his  outer  coat  and  wrapped  it 
around  Branson's  shoulders. 

"  But  I  'm  not  done  with  you,  you  Yankee  Abolition 
ists,  you  idiotic  dreamers,"  Sheriff  Jones  burst  out.  "  I  '11 
show  you  what  it  means  to  stop  an  officer  of  the  law. 
Your  day  is  only  beginnin'.  You  can  quit  your  dreamin' 
about  what  you  call  your  liberty  and  git  out  and  fight 
for  it." 

"I  want  to  know,  hain't  we  got  out  now  for  liberty, 


112  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

but  there  hain't  no  apparent  need  of  fightin'  any,"  Coke 
Wren  drawled  in  his  quaint  way.  "We  got  to  pick 
somebody  nearer  our  own  size  for  that,  it  seems." 

With  viler  threats  and  nuch  foul  abuse,  the  mob  turned 
about  and  rode  furiously  away. 

"  Let 's  get  this  man  to  Lawrence  as  soon  as  we  can," 
Merriford  urged.  "The  Sheriff  is  right.  The  dream  of 
liberty  is  ending.  From  this  time  it  will  be  a  sacrifice 
for  it." 

"It's  ten  miles  to  Lawrence.  Branson,  are  you  good 
for  it?"  Lamond  asked. 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  Branson  answered,  in  a  choking 
voice.  "  You  men  don't  know  how  good  you  seem  to  me. 
I  expected  to  be  hung  within  an  hour." 

"Say,  did  you  ever  see  a  king?"  questioned  Wren, 
close  to  Branson's  side.  "Ef  you  never  did,  look  at 
Winthrop  Merriford  stridin'  along  there,  an*  that  Scotch 
man,  Lamond.  He'd  a'  shot  first  if  it  had  a'  been  real 
necessary,  an'  Darrow  s  not  scared  o'  nothin'  on  the 
Lord's  footstool.  Ain't  they  a  set  of  real  men,  now? 
Dreamin'  of  Liberty !  Well,  I  reckon  they  '11  make  their 
dreams  come  true  ef  they  pay  out  their  heart's  blood 
for  it." 

"And  what  about  Coke  Wren,  if  Merriford  is  a  king 
among  men?"  a  good-natured  settler  next  to  the  little 
Yankee  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  I  'm  the  king's  fool,  but  if  they  think  I 
just  dream  of  doin'  things  and  don't  das  to  do  'em,  I'll 
keep  on  foolin'  'em  plenty  and  to  spare." 

The  morning  breeze  threshed  down  the  Wakarusa  with 
a  biting  cold  as,  weary  and  chill  and  footsore  from  their 
ten  miles'  hurried  march,  the  little  band  of  men  with  him 
whom  they  had  rescued  from  torture  and  cruel  death 
crept  toward  the  village  of  Lawrence.  In  each  man's 


THE    END     OF    DREAMS  113 

heart  he  knew  that  Sheriff  Jones  had  spoken  truly  —  that 
deeds  and  not  words  must  count  now  in  the  building  of 
a  State.  And  they  steeled  their  spirits  to  whatever  sac 
rifice  the  days  should  ask  of  them. 


PART  TWO 

THE  SACRIFICE 

By  all  for  which  the  martyrs  bore  their  agony  and  shame; 
By  all  the  warning  words  of  truth  with  which  the  prophets  came; 
By  the  Future  which  awaits  us;  by  all  the  hopes  which  cast 
Their  faint  and  trembling  beams  across  the  blackness  of  the  Past; 
And  by  the  blessed  thought  of  Him  who  for  Earth's  freedom 

died, 

O  my  people!    O  my  brothers!  let  us  choose  the  righteous  side. 

—  Whittier. 


CHAPTER    IX 
WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA 

Laughed  out  the  true  Daughters,  "  All  men  shall  behold 
How  we  clothe  her  in  Samite  and  crown  her  with  gold!" 
But  the  bitter  ones  cried,  "Though  her  meadows  be  sweet, 
We  will  drench  them  with  blood  till  she  kneels  at  our  feet!" 

—  Amanda  T.  Jones. 

LIKE  ocean  tides  sweeping  in  from  illimitable,  watery 
spaces  which  no  man  can  measure,  the  bleak  Decem 
ber  winds  swept  the  open  Kansas  plains.  And  although 
the  uplands  were  colorless  and  the  Vinland  Valley  was 
only  a  waste  of  dead  grasses  with  a  black  tracery  of 
leafless  .boughs  along  its  sheltered  waterways,  the  shin 
ing  silvery  heavens  were  never  so  glorious,  nor  did  purple 
dawn  and  scarlet  sunset  lose  one  unit  of  their  splendor. 
The  world  God  made  lay  peacefully  beautiful  in  its  win 
ter  resting  time.  Not  so  the  world  of  man  threshed  with 
the  flail  of  men's  bitter  passions. 

Along  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  a  noisy  crew  came  scurry 
ing  in  disorder;  drunken  men,  boasters,  bullies,  gathered 
from  the  mud-banks  of  the  Missouri,  all  rushing  to  the 
rallying  ground  on  the  Wakarusa.  They  were  heavily 
armed.  They  rode  steeds  of  as  nondescript  variety  as  the 
class  of  beings  to  which  they  themselves  belonged.  Their 
words  were  mingled  with  oaths  and  coarse  jests,  and  the 
one  slogan  and  rallying  cry  of  this  outlaw  pack  was 
"  Death  to  the  Yankees."  The  mad  rout  of  these  prairie 
pirates  was  but  the  joyous  response  of  the  forces  over 
the  eastern  border  to  the  call  of  Sheriff  Jones.  Nor  did 

117 


118  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  call  come  unexpectedly  to  their  ears.  Their  time 
was  ripe,  his  word  their  signal  to  begin. 

The  Sheriff  had  been  true  to  the  threat  made  to  the 
rescuers  of  Branson.  He  promised  them  that  they 
should  suffer  in  full  for  their  act  of  opposing  an  officer 
of  the  law.  Like  the  autumn  prairie  fires  of  the  short 
grass  plains,  the  howl  of  Sheriff  Jones  swept  along  the 
land,  gathering  volume  as  it  rolled  eastward,  the  cry 
that  Kansas  was  in  a  state  of  rebellion,  that  mob  rule 
was  supreme,  that  officers  of  the  law  were  powerless 
to  act,  that  no  Pro-Slavery  man's  life  was  safe,  that 
nothing  short  of  a  force  of  hundreds  of  armed  men  could 
restore  civil  peace.  And  loudest  of  all  did  Jones  bellow 
forth  the  edict  that  Lawrence  must  not  be  left  with  one 
stone  upon  another. 

It  was  not,  however,  to  the  law-abiding  men  of  the 
Kansas  Territory  to  whom  he  appealed  for  aid  in  sup 
pressing  the  rebels  within  her  borders,  but  to  the  Mis 
souri  militia,  with  whatever  of  volunteer  service  that  the 
rabble  always  furnishes  in  the  hey-day  of  licensed  law 
lessness.  It  must  have  been  that  the  very  winds  that 
swept  across  the  eastern  boundary  bore  his  cry  thither. 
Else  in  a  land  without  telegraph  or  telephone  how  should 
such  a  horde  have  heard  and  answered  so  quickly?  With 
any  sort  of  man  who  would  carry  arms,  on  any  sort  of 
steed  that  would  carry  a  man,  and  with  a  wagon  bearing 
ammunition,  provisions,  and  the  inevitable  jug  of  the 
Tonic  of  Ambition,  they  came  forth  by  bands  —  for  one 
purpose  —  to  wipe  from  the  land  every  vestige  —  save 
the  spilled  blood  —  of  the  Yankee  settler  and  the  Free- 
State  Abolitionist 

Fifteen  hundred  strong,  they  gathered  on  the  banks  of 
the  Wakarusa,  and  their  camp  fires  signaled  hatred,  de 
struction,  loot,  and  murder  to  that  defenceless  land 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         119 

through  which  the  Wakarusa  wanders  on  its  way  to  meet 
the  Kaw.  They  wanted  to  fight,  this  valiant  host,  else 
they  would  not  have  volunteered;  they  wanted  to  kill, 
else  they  would  not  fight;  they  wanted  to  plunder  and 
destroy,  else  fighting  and  killing  were  a  waste  of  energy. 
This  invading  band  was  increased  by  the  Pro-Slavery 
men  of  the  Territory,  but  they  were  a  mere  handful 
without  the  alien  force  brought  in  to  win  the  struggle 
to  a  cause  alien  to  Kansas.  All  these  centered  on  the 
Wakarusa  banks  facing  Lawrence. 

For  Lawrence,  too,  was  a  rallying  ground,  the  center 
and  source  of  the  Territory's  rebellious  strength.  The 
best  blood  of  New  England  was  in  Lawrence.  The  voice 
of  Massachusetts, 

For  us  and  for  our  children,  the  vow  that  we  have  given 
For  freedom  and  humanity  is  registered  in  heaven; 

was  the  voice  of  Lawrence  likewise  in  these  daring  days. 
With  the  sack  and  pillage  of  this  town,  the  houses  burned 
and  the  citizens  routed  or  forever  stilled,  the  Free-State 
power  in  Kansas  could  never  rally  again. 

The  border  towns  were  hot-beds  of  Pro-Slavery  forces 
already.  The  scattered  settlers  could  be  dealt  with.  Grim 
term  that,  "  dealt  with  "  !  Heaven  save  those  who  might 
be  so  "dealt  with."  Eighteen  months  had  passed 
wherein  the  Territory  had  been  the  scene  of  all  manner  of 
lawlessness,  from  petty  annoyance  to  vilest  outrage.  The 
Free-State  citizens  had  so  patiently  endured  it  all  that 
they  came  to  be  regarded  as  having  no  resisting  spirit, 
and  this  one  blow  at  Lawrence  would  finish  them,  so  the 
enemies  to  the  Territory  reasoned.  The  story  of  the 
West  would  be  written  then  along  vastly  different  lines. 
But  this  blow  must  be  struck  now. 


120  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

And  so  it  was  that  in  these  December  days  in  all  the 
scattered  settlements,  the  little  pioneer  homes  were  left 
with  only  the  protection  of  the  mothers,  while  the  fathers 
went  hurrying  up  to  Lawrence  at  the  call  of  the  higher 
duty.  With  all  speed  the  word  was  sent  from  claim  to 
claim,  and  up  from  all  the  fair  valleys  strong  men  came 
eagerly  to  the  defence  of  the  town  marked  for  doom,  the 
aftermath  of  whose  destruction  would  be  the  easy  oblit 
eration  of  the  separated,  unorganized  settlements.  These 
earnest  men  came  for  defence  in  a  just  cause,  and 
only  in  defence  should  a  hand  be  lifted  against  the  invad 
ing  gang  who  sought  their  lives. 

And  so  it  was  that  in  these  December  days  the  little 
town  of  Lawrence  was  fortified  round  about  by  earth 
works,  hastily  thrown  up  and  patrolled  by  relays  of 
organized  forces.  And  while  all  men  wore  the  garb  of 
civil  life,  and  the  business  of  the  place  went  quietly  for 
ward,  down  in  the  open  plain  the  volunteer  soldiery  under 
Colonel  Lane  drilled  silently  and  steadily;  and  in  the 
town  the  women  molded  bullets  for  the  men;  and  all 
awaited  expectantly  the  hour  of  vengeful  strife. 

So  a  week  went  by,  a  gloomy  seven  days  of  increasing 
heaviness.  By  incessant  labor  five  fortifications  had  been 
erected  to  guard  the  river  and  the  land  entrance  to  the 
besieged  town.  Day  and  night  in  the  chill  early  winter 
days  the  men  worked  to  strengthen  the  defence.  Along 
either  side  of  Massachusetts  Street,  a  wide  roadway  that 
should  one  day  grow  into  a  broad  avenue,  intrenchments 
were  thrown  up.  Sentinels  were  set  night  and  day  on 
the  high  places,  and  every  force  that  could  offer  aid  and 
protection  was  called  into  action.  And  all  the  while  on 
the  bleak  top  of  Mount  Oread,  where  its  colors  could  be 
seen  and  its  message  read  for  miles  and  miles,  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  floated  bravely  out  in  proud  serenity.  But 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         121 

in  the  event  of  an  attack  there  was  no  cannon  for  defence, 
ammunition  was  quite  insufficient,  food  supplies  were  re 
duced,  the  increasing  number  in  the  enemy's  camp  was 
known  to  a  certainty,  and,  crowning  all,  the  United 
States  Government  had  authorized  the  course  of  Gov 
ernor  Shannon  and  Sheriff  Jones,  and  the  Border  held 
men  and  means  ready  to  reinforce  both. 

In  the  evening  of  one  of  the  darkest  of  these  days  a 
company  of  men  gathered  for  council  in  Winthrop  Merri- 
ford's  office;  leading  men  they  were  who  that  day  held 
the  fate  of  the  Territory  in  their  grasp.  Among  them 
were  Dr.  Robinson,  conservative  and  capable,  and 
Colonel  Lane,  aggressive  and  resourceful.  And  by  the 
law  of  attraction  the  remaining  numbers  were  grouped 
around  the  one  or  the  other  of  these  two.  Lamond  sat 
next  to  Lane ;  a  brawny  Scot  he  appeared  that  night,  with 
other  big,  determined  men  about  him.  Merriford  and 
Coke  Wren  fitted  into  the  group  around  Robinson ;  while 
belonging  to  neither  one,  yet  high  in  the  esteem  of  every 
man  there,  Hiram  Darrow  sat  with  thoughtful  but  un 
clouded  face.  By  his  side  was  John  Speer,  editor  and 
patriot,  whose  life  story  is  also  the  story  of  Lawrence 
and  her  struggles. 

"What  of  the  hour?"  was  each  man's  query  as  they 
settled  themselves  into  the  limited  space  of  the  narrow 
room. 

"We  must  think  for  ourselves  and  for  those  who 
depend  on  our  direction  before  we  act,"  Doctor  Robinson 
said. 

"But  let  us  not  think  too  long,  and  act  too  slowly," 
Lane  exclaimed.  "  There  are  fifteen  hundred  men  in  the 
camp  on  the  Wakarusa,  all  primed  to  annihilate  us.  We 
have  perhaps  five  hundred  men  here  in  Lawrence.  There 
are  three  to  one,  you  see.  We  cannot  expect  that  many 


122  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

more  will  get  into  town  to  join  us,  for  we  are  surrounded 
by  our  enemies  and  the  south  and  west  fords  are  all 
guarded.  I  don't  know  how  many  more  those  fellows 
over  there  may  count  on  joining  them.  It  will  be  two 
to  one  and  to  spare,  anyhow.  In  an  open  battle  the  odds 
would  be  heavy." 

"But  if  it  is  necessary  I  would  risk  it,"  Lamond 
asserted.  "We  can't  expect  to  take  Gibraltar  with  a 
bombardment  of  boiled  peas.  We  are  here  to  defend 
this  place  to  the  last."  He  looked  the  part  he  would  be 
expected  to  play  in  this  grim  tragedy,  not  as  a  prize 
fighting  bully,  but  as  a  big,  determined,  courageous  man. 

"  Lawrence  is  on  the  defensive.  Absolutely  there  is 
no  rebellion  against  the  Government  here,"  Merriford 
declared.  "If  we  could  once  get  Governor  Shannon  to 
understand  us,  we  would  feel  safe;  as  it  is,  we  must 
strengthen  the  fortifications  and  wait  for  their  action." 

"  It  will  be  hard  work  to  do  that,"  Lamond  declared. 
"The  men  here  are  leaving  their  homes  unprotected. 
They  want  to  finish  this  thing  and  get  back  to  their 
claims.  There  are  women  and  children  alone  and  de 
fenceless  that  need  them  every  day.  What  do  you  say, 
Barber?"  turning  to  a  young  man  who  sat  next  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Lamond  is  right,"  Barber  agreed.  "  When  I  left 
home  I  promised  my  wife  to  be  back  soon.  She  was 
almost  beside  herself  with  fear  and  anxiety  then.  For 
myself,  I  cannot  get  home  too  soon.  The  women  have 
the  worst  of  this,  anyhow.  But  I  am  here  to  see  it 
through,  and  while  I  believe  in  the  defensive  policy  only, 
I  know  the  men  are  anxious  and  the  outlook  is  gloomy. 
Being  on  the  defensive  may  not  change  results." 

"  We  need  more  than  men  here,"  Lane  said.  "  Loaded 
wagons  from  Missouri  were  stopped  and  overhauled  yes 
terday  at  the  Wakarusa  ford.  We  are  running  low  on 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         123 

provisions  and  ammunition,  and  these  wagons  were 
bringing  supplies  of  both  to  Lawrence,"  and  Lane 
frowned  darkly  at  the  thought  of  the  loss.  Then  he 
added,  "  I  wish  I  knew  the  conditions  in  their  camp." 

"  There 's  not  a  man  of  us  here  who  dares,  on  peril  of 
his  life,  to  go  far  enough  from  town  to  get  anything  or 
find  out  anything,"  Doctor  Robinson  added.  "  No  friend 
of  Lawrence  could  get  by  their  guns.  It  would  be  suicide 
for  the  one  who  risked  it,  and  homicide  for  us  to  per 
mit  it." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  Coke  Wren  broke  in ;  "  then  I  'm  up 
for  a  double  crime.  I  took  myself  out  of  here  last  night. 
That 's  suicide  in  the  first  degree.  And  I  was  consenting 
and  held  the  coats  of  the  fellows,  so  to  speak,  who  suf 
fered  me  to  go.  I  'm  them  fellows.  That's  unjustifiable 
homicide.  I've  been  all  over  their  camp  since  seven 
o'clock  last  night,  and  I'd  have  been  there  longer  if 
Colonel  Penwin  had  n't  been  in  my  way,  headin*  me  off." 

"Why  haven't  you  told  us  before?"  demanded  Rob 
inson, 

"  Been  waiting  to  have  my  sentence  pronounced  first," 
Coke  answered.  "Now  I  know  I'm  a  suicide  and  a 
homicide,  I  can  tell  just  what  to  count  on." 

"Oh,  go  on,  Wren,"  Merriford  urged.  "Tell  us  the 
situation." 

"  Grave,  very  grave,"  Wren  resumed.  "  A  few  gentle 
men  of  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin's  type.  And  they  are 
dangerous,  for  they're  the  brains  of  the  crowd.  Then 
there's  the  official  board,  Jones  and  his  superior  and 
inferior  officers,  who  are  in  command.  The  rest  just 
pauperize  all  description.  But  they  all  have  a  few  points 
in  common.  They  all  want  a  fight,  and  they  all  want  to 
kill  somebody,  bad,  and  they  all  want  whisky,  and  they 
all  want  to  get  this  job  pushed  through.  The  camp  ain't 


124  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

no  cavalry  quarters  like  West  Point,  and  the  big  cry  is 
to  rush  on  to  Lawrence  immediately.  They  can't  be  held 
back  much  longer  if  something  doesn't  happen.  They 
figure  they  can  swoop  down  here  and  beat  us  into  the 
bushes  in  one  sitting." 

"When  is  that  to  be?"  Lamond  asked. 

"Oh,  quick.  They  asked  me  all  about  our  defences. 
They  took  me  for  one  of  'em,  that's  the  way  I  look." 
And  Wren  gave  a  comical  twist  to  his  face,  that  only 
he  could  effect. 

"You  seemed  to  be  safe  enough,"  Doctor  Robinson 
said  with  a  smile. 

"  I  was  all  right  till  Penwin  caught  sight  of  me.  Then 
I  just  faded  away  in  the  dark  and  made  for  Lawrence." 

"How  did  you  get  by  their  men  at  the  Wakarusa 
crossing?"  Lane  asked.  "They  keep  that  guarded  night 
and  day." 

Coke  stiffened  at  this.  "There's  the  place  of  suicide 
and  homicide,  sure.  I  see  four  big  men,  all  armed, 
standin'  up  in  my  road,  and  at  the  same  minute  they  see 
me.  So  I  just  called  out  my  New  England  reserves,  and 
I  stalked  along,  singin'  out  loud  some  old  sailor  song  that 
hadn't  been  in  my  head  for  twenty  year.  When  they 
called  'Halt,'  I  just  stalked  right  on,  limpin'  a  little  and 
slouchy.  It  just  took  'em  by  surprise,  and  one  of  'em 
say,  '  Why  don't  you  stop? '  '  I  ain't  got  no  call  to  stop,' 
I  says ;  '  I  'm  late  as  it  is.'  '  Where  are  you  goin'  ? '  says 
the  spokesman.  'Where  I  darn  please,'  I  answers.  An' 
then  one  of  'em  with  shootin'  irons  dangerous  and  a  good- 
sized  bowie-knife  steps  close  to  me  an'  after  eyein'  me 
a  minute  —  it  seemed  more  like  a  year  —  he  says,  'Aw, 
let  'im  go ;  he 's  a  half-idiot  that  belongs  to  a  family  livin' 
down  by  the  Kaw.'  An'  I  come  over  the  Wakarusa  dry 
shod." 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         125 

"  You  think  they  mean  to  make  the  attack  soon,  then?  " 
Merriford  suggested. 

"At  the  first  minute  they  feel  sure  we  are  at  their 
mercy.  Consarn  'em!  That's  the  lawlessest  gang  of 
robbers  an'  cut-throats  that  ever  had  decent  men  in 
their  midst.  Some  of  'em,  a  precious  few,  but  some, 
ought  to  know  better  'n  ever  to  be  caught  in  among  'em. 
Men  like  Penwin,  now.  He  is  a  gentleman,  'most  ways." 

Darrow  and  Lamond  exchanged  glances  as  each  re 
called  the  evening  hour  at  the  Hole  in  the  Rock. 

"I  heard  something  else,  and  that's  the  worst  of  all 
to  me!"  Coke  went  on.  "They're  tellin'  all  over  the 
camp  that  the  Delawares  and  Shawnees  is  to  join  'em 
soon.  A  lot  of  wild  savages  could  be  no  worse  in  that 
camp,  but  the  mixin'  sounds  bad.  And  yet,  I  ain't  real 
scared  of  none  of  *em." 

Nor  was  any  other  man  scared.  By  the  dim  light  of 
the  office  lamp  every  man's  face  looked  brave  and  deter 
mined,  but  the  burden  of  the  time  and  the  peril  that  the 
day  might  bring,  not  to  these  alone,  but  to  all  they 
loved,  put  lines  of  care  into  every  face,  and  made  each 
heart  beat  anxiously.  It  was  the  darkest  hour  the  Terri 
tory  had  yet  known.  In  the  silence  that  followed  Coke's 
recital  the  helplessness  of  the  little  town  seemed  never 
so  great  as  now,  and  in  each  man's  mind  the  question  of 
how  to  meet  the  issues  of  the  hour  cried  for  an  answer, 
and  with  each  the  belief  in  the  victory  of  the  smaller  host 
against  the  larger  was  burdened  by  a  heavy  uncertainty. 

The  stillness  of  the  room  was  broken  by  Hiram  Dar- 
row's  voice,  calm,  gentle,  but  nothing  faltering.  "  It  will 
be  fair  again  to-morrow,  and  the  night  will  soon  be  gone. 
Every  step  of  our  way  will  open  clear  before  us,  but  we 
cannot  take  to-morrow's  step  to-night.  We  should  stum 
ble  if  we  tried  it.  We  cannot  fail.  I  believe  we  shall  not 


126  A    WALL    OF     MEN 

even  be  asked  to  shed  human  blood.  Our  times  are  in 
God's  hands.  Let  us  meet  here  again  in  the  morning 
and  see  what  the  day  demands  of  us  then.  Good-night," 
and  he  left  the  room. 

"  There 's  a  man  for  you ;  sounds  like  hammerin'  on  old 
Plymouth  Rock  when  he  talks.  Do  you  s  'pose  he  'd  fight 
if  there  was  a  war  right  now?  "  Coke  Wren  asked. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  Merriford  answered,  "  but  I  don't  believe 
he'd  run.  Those  Quakers  are  made  of  queer  timber. 
You  never  can  break  them.  Excellent  foundation  on 
which  to  build  a  community  or  a  State,  though." 

"  Darrow  is  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  Lamond  said,  "  but 
he's  eternally  set  in  his  doctrine  of  'peace  on  earth.' 
Kansas  seems  to  have  been  left  out  of  that  scheme  some 
how.  However,  he's  right  about  to-night.  Let's  see 
what  to-morrow  will  bring."  And  the  company  broke  up. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  early  morning  Winthrop  Mer 
riford  heard  a  gentle  tapping  outside  his  window. 

"Who's  there?"  he  called  softly,  as  the  signal  had 
suggested. 

Outside  in  the  dim  light  stood  a  Delaware  Indian. 

Merriford  lifted  the  sash  and  asked :  "  What 's  the  mat 
ter  now?" 

"Me,  White  Turkey,"  came  the  answer. 

"Well,  come  in,  White  Turkey.  Why  didn't  you  go 
to  the  door  in  the  first  place?" 

"Him  here?"  the  Indian  asked. 

"Whom  do  you  mean?"  queried  Merriford. 

"  Him,  me  not  want  him,  Jupe,"  answered  White  Tur 
key. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  muttered  the  lawyer.  "Aristocracy  of 
hue.  Copper  is  copper,  and  yellow  brown  is  yellow 
brown."  Then  aloud  he  said,  "  No,  Jupe  is  n't  here  right 
now;  come  in." 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         127 

But  when  he  reached  the  front  door  Jupe  stood  ready 
to  open  it. 

"Thank  you,  Jupe,"  he  said,  smoothly.  "You  may 
go  to  bed  again." 

Merriford  thought  Jupe's  action  peculiar,  for  he  man 
aged  to  so  open  the  door  that  the  Indian  did  not  see 
him,  and  the  lawyer  felt  sure  that  he  did  not  follow  out 
the  permission  given  him  to  go  to  bed. 

"  Let  him  listen  if  he  wants  to.  It  will  help  me  to  the 
end  of  the  problem  sooner,"  and  Merriford  led  the  Indian 
into  the  parlor  and  closed  the  door. 

White  Turkey  stood  with  folded  arms,  ignoring  the 
invitation  to  take  a  seat. 

"  Me  quick."  He  spoke  easily  now.  "  At  midnight  in 
big  wigwam  white  men  come,  one,  two,  three,  four,"  he 
told  off  on  his  fingers,  "all  big  men,  gather  all  braves 
into  big  wigwam.  Promise  Delawares  gold  and  whisky 
to  go  to  Wakarusa  camp.  Help  burn  Lawrence.  Help 
kill  medicine  man  Robinson,  Colonel  Lane,  Lamond, 
Darrow,  Merriford,  John  Speer.  All  these  sure,  and  more. 
Braves  listen.  Chiefs  tell  Sheriff  Jones'  men,  '  We  wait. 
Come  again,'  Men  go  back.  White  Turkey  follow. 
Hear  men  say,  '  Delawares  get  drunk,  they  all  go  to 
Wakarusa.'  Men  say,  'Tell  everybody  now  Delawares 
have  already  promised.  Scare  white  men.  Scare  white 
women.  Ugh ! ' " 

"What  will  the  Delawares  do,  White  Turkey?"  Mer 
riford  asked,  with  a  shudder  as  he  pictured  what  added 
horror  an  Indian  massacre  would  produce. 

The  Delaware's  face  was  utterly  expressionless  as 
though  the  soul  behind  it  were  void  of  all  sympathy. 
He  waited  his  own  time,  then  answered  slowly :  "  Dar 
row.  Him  be  killed,  too.  Specially  killed.  Darrow's 
squaw,  white  face,  like  lily  on  Horse-Shoe  Lake.  White 


128  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

squaw  kind.  Let  White  Turkey  sleep  in  warm  house, 
eat,  drink,  rest.  While  winds  blow  and  Wakarusa  run 
down  to  the  Kaw,  Delawares  not  let  hair  of  white 
woman's  head  be  touched." 

"Good  for  you,  my  boy;  that's  all  we  ask  of  you," 
Merriford  exclaimed. 

But  the  Indian  was  not  satisfied.  "  Delaware  braves 
help  Lawrence  men  if  white  men  want  braves.  We 
wait." 

"  Thank  you,  White  Turkey.  We  will  let  you  know  if 
we  need  you.  We  do  not  want  to  fight,  nor  mean  to 
fight  unless  we  must,  but  we  will  protect  our  homes  and 
we  will  not  give  up  our  right  to  live  here.  Come  into  the 
office  this  morning;  I  want  to  talk  to  you  there." 

As  the  Indian  turned  to  go  Merriford  recalled  that  he 
had  not  wished  to  have  Jupe  see  him,  and  wondered  why. 

"Just  a  minute,  my  friend,"  he  said,  kindly.  "Will 
you  tell  me  why  you  did  n't  want  Jupe  to  know  you  were 
here?" 

The  stolid  coppery  face  almost  changed  its  expression. 
Almost,  but  settled  back  into  a  bronze  firmness. 

"  Jupe  know  why,"  he  answered,  and  the  lawyer  would 
not  question  him  further. 

"All  right.  Be  sure  to  let  Jones  and  his  gang  wait 
long  enough  for  your  answer  to  them,"  and  Merriford 
led  the  way  into  the  hall. 

Jupe  stood  by  the  door  to  open  it.  The  Indian  was 
swift-footed.  With  a  stride  he  shot  through  the  door 
and  was  gone.  To  a  man  less  quick-witted  this  was  all 
that  happened,  but  Merriford  was  alert  and  he  caught 
the  Indian's  low  "  Don't  tell  yet,"  as  he  passed  the  negro, 
and  the  quick  response  of  intelligence  in  Jupe's  face, 
whose  countenance,  unlike  the  Indian,  he  could  not  con 
trol. 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         129 

The  morning  was  clear  and  the  December  sunshine 
filled  the  plains  with  its  splendor.  Up  and  down  the 
Kaw  River,  all  purple  and  silver  in  the  mists  of  the  crisp 
new  day,  the  landscape  wore  no  token  of  the  warring 
spirit  that  held  the  hearts  of  men.  No  dreams  of  peaceful 
vales  were  sweeter  than  the  peaceful  earth  under  the 
unscarred  heavens  on  this  rare  day. 

From  the  top  of  Mount  Oread,  Elliot  Darrow,  doing 
sentinel  duty,  saw  all  the  beauty  of  river  and  plain  and 
far  gleaming  headland.  Small  wonder  that  in  his  heart 
he  hated  war  and  longed  for  peace.  This  war  was  so 
contemptible,  so  uncertain,  so  unjust.  In  the  midst  of 
action  he  reasoned  his  soul  might  rise  to  meet  the  duty 
of  the  hour.  But  here  were  all  the  cheap  things  of  strife, 
the  petty  subterfuge,  the  swinish  appetites,  the  brutish 
cruelty, —  the  things  that  in  his  Quaker  home  he  had 
been  taught  all  his  life  to  despise.  He  did  not  know 
then  that  these  things  belong  to  war,  even  to  just  war, 
and  without  them  wars  could  not  be.  Longingly  he 
turned  his  eyes  toward  the  Vinland  Valley,  and  he  fan 
cied  he  could  trace  the  very  purple  shadow  that  lay 
beyond  the  sheltered  nook  holding  the  Lamond  home 
stead.  He  thought  of  Beth,  and  his  stern  young  face 
softened. 

"  She  is  a  wonderful  girl,"  he  mused.  "  If  I  could  once 
get  her  to  understand  how  I  hate  myself  for  being  rude 
to  her  that  one  time,  and  yet,"  the  tender  light  in  his 
dark  eyes  should  have  gladdened  the  heart  of  any  girl, 
"after  all,  1  am  afraid  I  might  want  to  be  just  as  rude 
again.  There  is  no  telling.  But  that  is  all  over  now. 
There  are  too  many  things  to  think  about." 

How  far  removed  from  the  careless  boy  who  had  gone 
nutting  on  an  October  afternoon  with  an  equally  careless 
crowd  of  boys  and  girls  seemed  this  muscular  young 


UO  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

fellow  standing  at  sentinel  duty  on  the  highest  point  of 
Mount  Oread.  Through  the  stern  business  of  the  time 
he  was  coming  swiftly  into  a  man's  estate.  Beth  Lamond 
had  spoken  truly  when  she  said: 

"  One  day  here  is  like  a  rent,  a  sword  cut,  a  shifting  of 
all  settled  things  to  make  the  days  afterward  follow 
another  pattern." 

Elliot's  days  had  fallen  into  new  lines  since  that  moon 
lit  night  when  Beth  had  said  these  words.  Although 
the  young  Quaker  fancied  he  had  put  the  girl  out  of  his 
mind,  his  eyes  still  rested  on  the  distant  Vinland  Valley. 
As  his  keen  vision  swept  the  plains  far  away,  he  caught 
sight  of  three  horses  coming  swiftly  from  the  south.  He 
was  standing  motionless  watching  the  three  when  an 
other  sentinel  rounded  the  northern  shoulder  of  Mount 
Oread. 

"  Hello,  Darrow,  you  look  like  you  could  see  clear  into 
that  camp  on  the  Wakarusa,"  he  cried. 

"I'm  watching  those  three  horses  yonder,"  Elliot 
answered. 

"  I  don't  see  anybody.  Yes,  I  do  too ;  I  guess  they  are 
horses.  They  may  be  buffalo,  or  just  a  field  piece  being 
brought  in  for  Sheriff  Jones  to  train  on  us." 

Elliot  looked  at  the  speaker  wonderingly.  "  There  are 
three  horses,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  I  can  see  that  now  myself,"  his  comrade  de 
clared. 

"  There  is  a  black  one  and  a  red  roan,  and  the  little  one 
with  a  white  nose  looks  for  all  the  world  like  Coke 
Wren's  vicious  little  pony  Cotton  Mather,"  Elliot  said, 
still  studying  the  view. 

"Well,  you've  got  mighty  good  eyes.  What  else  do 
you  see?"  the  sentinel  asked. 

"Two  of  them  look  like  women,"  Elliot  declared. 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA        131 

"He's  right,"  a  voice  behind  them  broke  in.  "There 
are  two  women ; "  and  a  tall  Shawnee  Indian  stepped  up 
beside  them. 

"Hello,  Pelathe.  Where  did  you  come  from?"  asked 
Elliot's  companion. 

"  I  want  him,  young  Darrow,  to  go  to  town  with  me," 
the  Indian  replied. 

"  Go  along  with  him,  Darrow,"  the  sentinel  urged.  He 
is  Pelathe,  a  Shawnee,  and  he 's  all  right  too.  I  came 
up  to  relieve  you,  anyhow.  I  '11  keep  a  lookout  for  your 
white-nosed  pony  and  your  red  roan,  and  your  black 
horse,  and  your  two  women.  Maybe  they  have  kidnaped 
a  Pro- Slavery  man  and  are  bringing  him  into  Lawrence 
alive." 

Elliot  and  the  Shawnee  strode  down  the  steep  slope  of 
Mount  Oread  toward  the  town. 

At  the  foot  of  the  slope  Pelathe  turned  to  the  young 
Quaker  :- 

"  Darrow,  take  me  to  Merriford's  office." 

"All  right,  we  are  heading  that  way,"  Elliot  said. 

"  Darrow,"  the  Indian  paused  a  little.  "  You  not  go 
home  now,  they  not  need  you." 

Elliot  stared  at  the  speaker.  "  How  do  you  know  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  was  there."  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  Vinland 
Valley.  "I  know.  You  not  go  to-day.5' 

A  sudden  recollection  flashed  through  the  young 
Quaker's  mind,  but  he  asked  no  further  questions. 

At  the  breakfast  table  that  morning  Jupe  was  stand 
ing  behind  Merriford's  chair. 

"Say,  Jupiter,"  the  lawyer  said  carelessly,  "do  you 
know  White  Turkey?  " 

"  No  sah !  "  the  African  answered  promptly.  "  I  is  not 
familiar  enough  with  the  Lawrence  hen-roosts  yet  to 


132  AWALLOFMEN 

know  the  white  roosters  even,  let  alone  the  white 
turkeys,  sah." 

"  All  right,"  his  employer  answered,  as  he  turned  in  his 
chair  and  looked  keenly  into  the  negro's  face,  "you'll 
soon  be  extending  your  acquaintances,  I  have  no  doubt." 

The  broad  grin  on  Jupe's  guileless  countenance  dis 
appeared  and  in  its  place  came  a  look  of  tenderness  and 
pity  the  moment  Merriford's  face  was  turned  away. 

"  Say,  Mars'r  Merriford,  what 's  gwine  to  be  the  end  of 
this  war  for  extermination  ?  " 

If  using  lengthy  terms  was  to  get  Jupe  out  of  bondage, 
his  freedom  was  almost  in  sight. 

"There  is  only  one  end  to  this  kind  of  strife,  Jupe. 
The  Courts  of  History  do  not  reverse  themselves.  Go 
now  and  warm  up  the  office.  I  want  to  meet  some  men 
there  in  half  an  hour,"  and  the  servant  was  sent  away. 

"  This  game  grows  interesting,"  Merriford  said  to  him 
self.  "That  man  has  nothing  to  gain  by  treachery.  I 
have  seldom  been  deceived  in  my  judgment  of  motives, 
and  I  *m  sure  the  negro  means  well.  There 's  a  big  soul 
in  that  big  body.  It  is  just  the  little  brain  through  which 
it  must  act  that  complicates  things  for  him  —  and  me. 
I'll  play  the  thing  through,  but  my  curiosity  is  getting 
whetted  up." 

Hiram  Darrow  was  right  in  his  prediction  of  a  fair 
to-morrow.  Every  man  who  came  to  Merriford's  office 
on  this  morning  walked  with  firm  step,  and  gloom 
seemed  to  have  fled  away  with  the  shadows  of  the  night. 
The  impending  danger  was  not  lessened,  but  the  spirit 
of  manhood  on  which  the  enemy  had  not  counted  made 
stronger  defence  in  Lawrence  that  day  than  cannon  or 
earthwork  or  thick-walled  fortress  could  afford. 

"  There  were  fifty  men  from  Ottawa  Creek  who  got  in 
at  midnight,"  Lane  announced. 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA        133 

"The  Palmyra  mounted  riflemen  rode  up  the  street 
just  now  with  the  flag  flying  over  them.  Every  man 
who  comes  in  that  spirit  brings  the  strength  of  ten  men 
in  his  fighting  arm,"  Lamond  asserted. 

"  And  we  may  get  ammunition  before  night,"  Dr.  Rob 
inson  declared.  "  Two  of  our  noble  women  have  already 
gone  down  to  a  claim,  where  there  is  a  quantity  buried. 
They  can  get  it  in  here  when  none  of  us  could.  Hats  off 
to  the  ladies."  They  rose  to  their  feet  with  profound 
courtesy. 

"  I  have  some  good  news,  too,"  Merriford  announced, 
"  I  'm  looking  for  a  Delaware  Indian  here  to  tell  us  some 
thing.  Here  he  comes  now." 

White  Turkey  was  just  entering,  with  Jupe  close  be 
hind  him. 

"Here,  White  Turkey,  tell  these  friends  what  your 
tribe  will  do  in  this  trouble." 

The  Indian  faced  the  company  and  with  impassive 
countenance  said  slowly:  "While  winds  blow  and  the 
Wakarusa  runs  down  to  the  Kaw,  the  Delaware  braves 
will  not  lift  hands  against  Lawrence.  We  are  ready  to 
fight  with  you  now." 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  men  at  this  declaration,  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  rejoicing  Elliot  Darrow  and  Pelathe, 
the  Shawnee,  entered  the  door.  Pelathe  was  a  fine  speci 
men  of  his  tribe,  with  a  face  of  unusual  intelligence  and 
shrewdness.  Two  months  before  Elliot  would  have  been 
ill  at  ease  in  this  company.  Now  he  spoke  with  cour 
teous  self-possession : 

"  Gentlemen,  this  man  has  something  to  tell  you,"  and 
he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"Hold  on,  we  may  want  you,"  Merriford  said,  and 
Elliot  stopped  by  the  closed  door  while  Pelathe  spoke. 

"Sheriff  Jones  and  the  men  on  the  Wakarusa  say 


134  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Shawnees  will  join  them  against  you.  Shawnees  will  not 
fight  against  Lawrence.  We  will  fight  for  you.  When 
you  want  us  we  are  ready." 

A  cheer  followed  this  declaration,  and  in  the  confusion 
of  voices  nobody  except  Merriford  and  Lamond  noted 
how  quickly  the  Indian  slid  to  the  side  of  the  young 
Quaker. 

"You  stay  here,  now?"  he  asked  innocently,  as  he 
noted  the  nearness  of  Merriford  and  Lamond,  but  there 
was  a  meaning  in  his  eyes  that  Elliot  understood. 

"  Of  course  he  will  stay,"  Lamond  said,  "  All  our  homes 
are  unprotected.  It  would  be  cowardly  for  any  one  of  us 
to  leave  now." 

In  truth  Lamond  had  felt  a  pride  in  the  young  man 
from  his  own  neighborhood  who  had  already  been  recog 
nized  as  courageous  and  trustworthy.  The  Indian  turned 
carelessly.  "  Down  in  Palmyra  country,  you  live?  "  he  put 
the  question  indifferently. 

"Were  you  ever  there,  Pelathe?"  Elliot  asked  sud 
denly,  and  something  in  the  young  man's  voice  made 
Lamond  and  Merriford  turn  to  look  at  him. 

"  When  the  moon  was  one  quarter."  A  sudden  gesture 
from  White  Turkey,  who  had  joined  the  group,  and  the 
Shawnee  added,  "You  stay  with  your  father  here." 

He  looked  straight  into  Elliot's  keen  dark  eyes  as  he 
spoke.  Merriford  alone  noted  the  quick  interchange  of 
intelligence  in  the  glances. 

"One  negro,  two  Indians  and  one  white  man,"  the 
lawyer  said  to  himself,  "  a  veritable  house  that  Jack  built. 
What  next?  How  like  Neil  young  Darrow  looks  now. 
I  wish  my  boy  was  here." 

"  We  are  all  agreed  on  the  defensive  line.  Let  us  hope 
for  peace  and  be  ready  for  war,"  Dr.  Robinson  said  to 
the  whole  company;  then  turning  to  the  Indians,  "We 


WAR    ON    THE    WAKARUSA         135 

thank  your  tribes  more  than  we  can  say.  We  will  call 
on  you  when  we  need  you." 

A  commotion  in  the  street  brought  the  men  to  the 
door.  As  they  hurried  out,  White  Turkey  managed  to 
pass  close  to  Elliot.  The  Indian  gave  him  a  swift  glance, 
then  in  a  low  voice  he  said:  "You  go  home.  Don't 
listen  to  white  man.  Go  home,  don't  listen  to  Indian. 
Pelathe  talk  truth,  but  White  Turkey  know.  Go  home." 

A  crowd  had  gathered  in  front  of  Merriford's  office.  In 
its  midst  stood  Beth  Lamond.  Her  dark  gray  eyes  were 
shining  with  excitement.  Her  cheeks  were  pink  from 
the  sharp  morning  air,  and  her  sunny  hair  curled  softly 
up  against  the  jaunty  little  cap  of  the  Lamond  plaid, 
while  a  big  shawl  of  the  same  plaid  was  pinned  snugly 
about  her  throat.  In  all  the  days  that  followed  Elliot 
Darrow  never  lost  that  picture  of  Beth  from  his  memory. 
Beside  her,  little  Patty  Wren  was  smiling  cheerfully, 
while  beyond  them  Craig  Penwin  was  sitting  with  care 
less  ease  on  a  red  roan  horse,  holding  the  reins  of 
Lamond's  black  Pluto  and  little  Cotton  Mather.  In  the 
excitement  of  the  moment  nobody,  not  even  Merriford, 
noted  how  quickly  Jupe  effaced  himself  from  view,  ror 
did  any  one  catch  the  look  of  bitter  hatred  in  White 
Turkey's  still  black  eyes  as  he  stalked  away  toward  the 
Delaware  reservation  beyond  the  Kaw. 


CHAPTER    X 
THE    UNPROTECTED 

One  word  tells  you  all  I  would  say, — 
She  is  my  mother:  You  will  agree 
That  all  the  rest  may  be  thrown  away. 

—  Alice  Gary. 

THE  glory  of  war  is  to  the  rank  and  file ;  but  the  hard 
ship  of  war  is  to  more  than  these.  It  reaches 
beyond  battlefield  and  bivouac  to  the  hearthstones  of  the 
land.  In  the  story  of  this  young  western  Territory  an 
unwritten  tale  of  tragedy  and  endurance  is  to  be  found 
in  the  pioneer  homes  of  early  Kansas. 

While  the  men  were  fortifying  Lawrence  and  waiting 
for  the  hour  of  open  warfare,  down  in  the  Vinland  Valley 
events  were  transpiring  that  led  to  the  sudden  appear 
ance  of  Patty  Wren  and  Beth  Lamond  before  Lawyer 
Merriford's  office. 

Nobody  knew  better  than  Isabel  Darrow  how  much 
every  man  counted  in  the  besieged  town.  Not  only  did 
she  send  her  own  away,  with  a  bright  hopeful  face,  she 
became  also  a  comforter  and  helper  to  other  women  less 
brave  and  capable  than  herself.  Mark  jumped  at  the 
chance  of  being  now  the  head  of  the  household,  and  did 
the  work  of  two  men  gladly,  but  too  rashly;  while  in 
his  boy-heart  he  cherished  the  notion  that  he  too  was 
needed  at  Lawrence,  and  he  dreamed  his  day-dream  of 
valiant  deeds  he  might  have  done  there. 

But  one  evening  in  his  hurried  descent  from  his  Darra- 

136 


THE    UNPROTECTED  137 

rat,  whither  he  had  climbed  to  see  if  the  fire  of  battle 
might  be  lurid  in  the  north,  he  lost  his  hold  and  fell  to 
the  cabin  floor  below.  A  broken  rib,  a  dislocated  shoulder, 
and  a  twisted  ankle  were  the  net  results,  with  some  fifteen 
minutes  of  unconsciousness  at  the  beginning.  His  mother 
deftly  wrenched  the  shoulder  into  place,  and  bandaged 
the  ankle ;  but  the  broken  rib,  the  stiff  arm,  and  the  help 
less  foot  required  careful  nursing,  and  upon  her  and  little 
Joe  fell  all  the  outdoor  winter  chores  besides.  Mark  was 
meeker  under  affliction  than  in  good  fortune,  for  he  made 
no  complaint  of  his  sufferings,  and  in  all  possible  ways 
saved  his  mother  by  taking  care  of  himself;  while  Joe, 
suddenly  promoted  to  the  highest  place  in  the  household, 
used  much  energy  and  little  judgment,  as  might  be  ex 
pected  of  one  of  his  years. 

That  was  how  it  was  that  in  a  sudden  whirling  about 
of  the  wind  from  south  to  north,  as  happens  often  on  the 
unsubdued  prairies,  Joe  was  caught  down  in  a  ravine 
cutting  wood  without  his  coat.  Warm  and  wet  with 
perspiration  from  the  vigorous  exercise,  he  had  come  up 
to  the  level  and  hurried  home  against  the  chilling  wind. 
The  little  body  was  numb  with  cold  when  the  boy 
reached  the  house,  and  although  his  mother  cared  for 
him  zealously,  he  went  into  a  fever  and  within  the  next 
twenty-four  hours  pneumonia  was  added  to  the  other 
cares  of  the  brave  pioneer  woman. 

Patty  Wren,  with  her  natural  inclination  to  be  into 
things,  and  to  be  useful  as  well,  came  over  for  an  after 
noon  visit  with  Mrs.  Darrow.  Patty  was  a  born  nurse, 
and  she  saw  at  once  that  Joe  was  very  ill.  She  would 
not  alarm  his  mother.  That  was  n't  Patty's  way,  but  she 
made  up  her  mind  that  he  must  have  medicine,  and  that 
Mrs.  Darrow  must  be  relieved  of  all  other  duties  except 
the  care  of  her  children. 


138  AWALLOFMEN 

"Land  o*  love,  Mis'  Darrow,"  Patty  chirped.  "You 
go  an'  stay  with  them  blessed  boys.  I  '11  git  your  house 
red  up  in  no  time,"  and  the  trim  little  woman  fairly  flew 
about  the  kitchen. 

"  Ef  I  had  somebody  to  stay  here  I  know  what  I  'd  do," 
she  mused.  "I  believe  I  can  do  it,  anyhow.  Little  Joe 
hain't  goin'  to  pull  through  less  he  gits  something  to 
relieve  his  chist.  You  can  bring  up  children  most  of 
the  time  on  turpentine  an'  lard,  but  in  pneumony  you  've 
got  to  have  quinine  inside  of  'em.  Mis'  Darrow 's  doin' 
noble,  but  ef  Joey  don't  git  some  help,  inside  of  a  week 
there  '11  be  a  grave  over  to  Palmyry  to  rest  heavy  on  her 
heart,  and  make  her  hate  Kansas  'stid  o'  lovin'  it  as  it 
will  deserve  yit.  An'  the  men  all  locked  up  in  Lawrence 
an'  the  key  throwed  into  the  Kaw,  you  might  say.  Oh 
Law!  it's  the  women's  turn  now.  An'  it's  a  nasty  day 
too,  but  ef  ye  wait  to  git  consent  of  the  weather  you 
won't  go  fur  in  shine  or  shadow." 

Patty  glanced  out  at  the  dull  gray  sky  and  colorless 
earth.  Then  she  peeped  into  the  hall.  Hiram  Darrow 
had  cut  a  wide  doorway  across  the  corner  of  one  of  the 
rooms,  enlarging  the  space  in  the  hall  sitting  room  and 
giving  more  light  and  general  comfort  to  both  room  and 
hall.  Mark  sat  propped  in  a  chair  before  the  fire  and  Joe 
lay  on  a  cot  in  the  room  beyond. 

"Land  o'  love!"  Patty  repeated.  "Isabel  Darrow 
would  look  like  a  picture  even  in  the  poorhouse.  Ain't 
no  woman  in  Kansas  quite  so  pretty.  Poor  little  Joe! 
He  hardly  senses  what  a  sweet  face  is  bendin'  over  him. 
Even  Beth  Lamond,  with  all  her  pretty  girl  ways  and 
kind  o'  wholesome  independence,  ain't  got  quite  the 
beauty  yit  that  the  good  Lord  give  Isabel  Darrow. 
Lemme  see,  I  '11  get  Beth  to  come  an'  stay  and  I  '11  just 
go  to  Lawrence  after  medicine.  My  nose  told  me  there 


THE    UNPROTECTED  139 

was  something  wrong  with  Beth  and  the  Darrows  the 
day  of  the  preachin'  up  to  Palmyry.  Elliot  went  home 
stiff  an'  upright,  and  Craig  Penwin  beaued  Beth  home. 
But  in  the  hour  of  sorrer  we  forget  our  little  miffs.  I 
wish  I  could  get  her  or  somebody  here  by  just  wishin'  it. 
But  if  you  got  no  wishin'  tree  you  must  git  your  fruit 
from  your  action  bushes,  and  here  goes  Coke  Wren's 
wife  to  it." 

As  she  opened  the  kitchen  door  to  carry  out  a  pan  of 
dishwater  little  Tarleton  Penwin  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  house. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  boy,  come  in,"  Patty  exclaimed  joy 
fully.  "  Could  n't  you  stay  here  awhile  —  till  I  get  back 
or  send  somebody?  Joe's  sick." 

Tarley's  lip  quivered.  In  sheer  loneliness  he  had  come 
to  find  his  playmate;  and  sickness  is  a  hard  problem  for 
a  boy. 

"  Oh,  he.'s  just  middlin'  sick,  and  you  can  help  his  ma 
a  lot.  Will  you  do  it?"  Patty  urged. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Wren,  if  I  can,"  the  boy  answered,  and  he 
allowed  Patty  to  lead  him,  hesitating,  into  the  sick  room. 

"  Mis'  Darrow,  Tarleton's  come  to  stay  with  you  till  I 
get  back.  I  'm  goin*  to  get  you  some  medicine." 

Mrs.  Darrow's  eyes  were  a  joy  to  Patty's  memory  as 
she  turned  them  gratefully  upon  her  kind  little  neighbor. 

"But  how  can  you  get  it,  Patty?"  she  asked.  "All 
the  Palmyra  men  are  on  their  way  to  Lawrence  now.  I 
saw  the  company  pass  down  the  Trail  half  an  hour  or 
so  ago." 

"Say,  Mis'  Darrow,  can  you  pull  through  till 
mornin'  ?  "  Patty  asked  eagerly. 

Isabel  lifted  her  fair  face  to  the  little  woman  bending 
over  her. 

"  I  know  in  whom  I  have  trusted,"  she  said  simply. 


140  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"I'll  be  here  to-morrow  or  send  something  or  some 
body.  Tarley'll  stay,  won't  you.  Tarley?" 

Tarley  nodded. 

"Aunt  Crystal  said  maybe  I  could  stay  all  night,"  he 
said.  And  Patty  hurried  away. 

Cotton  Mather's  hard  hoofs  clicked  on  the  frozen  Trail 
as.  Patty  sped  toward  the  cabin  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine. 
At  the  crossing  by  the  Hole  in  the  Rock  she  almost 
dashed  into  Craig  Penwin,  whose  horse  had  shied  angrily 
away  from  the  black  pool. 

"Why,  Craig,"  she  cried,  seized  with  an  inspiration, 
"I've  just  come  from  Darrow's.  Mark's  got  a  broken 
rib  and  a  sprained  ankle,  and  a  shoulder  out  of  place; 
most  other  ways  though  he 's  all  right,  but  little  Joe 's 
got  pneumony  bad,  and  I  'm  goin'  after  medicine.  Can't 
Tarley  stay  there  till  I  get  back?  It's  a  hard  time  for 
all  of  us,  Craig,  no  matter  how  single  or  double  we  look 
at  things." 

However  harsh  the  lines  were  drawn  now,  neighbor 
against  neighbor,  Craig  Penwin  took  no  part  in  any  of 
the  strife.  In  his  heart,  however,  he  resented  the  very 
name  of  Darrow.  But  he  was  a  gentleman.  Lifting  his 
hat  to  Patty,  he  said  courteously: 

"  Of  course  Tarley  can  stay  if  Mrs.  Darrow  wants  him. 
I'll  go  home  and  tell  Aunt  Crystal.  Where  are  you 
going,  Mrs.  Wren?" 

"Oh  —  home,"  Patty  answered  briefly,  for  she  could 
not  wholly  trust  Boniface  Penwin's  son. 

Craig  knew  her  thoughts,  and  he  turned  away  in  anger. 

"  I  know  where  she  is  going.  She  might  have  told  me. 
They  will  not  think  of  me  alone.  They  don't  trust  me 
because  I  believe  the  niggers  were  made  to  be  our  serv 
ants,  and,"  sadly,  "because  of  my  father.  But  there's 
one  who  shall  trust  me.  That's  Beth,  and  no  Darrow 


THE    UNPROTECTED  141 

shall  prevent  it.  I  '11  show  her,  too,  before  twenty-four 
hours,  that  I  am  a  man  if  I  am  a  Southerner,"  and  he  shut 
his  thin  lips  tightly  and  rode  away. 

Meanwhile  Patty  hurried  home  to  set  the  little  Wren's 
nest  in  order. 

"Heavens  to  Betsey!  of  all  the  good  luck,"  she  cried 
as  she  reached  the  edge  of  the  ravine.  "  There  sets  Beth 
Lamond  on  their  big  Pluto.  Hain't  Providence  workin' 
it  out  though ! " 

"  I  've  come  to  stay  over  night,"  Beth  announced,  when 
Patty  reached  the  gate.  "  Mother  has  gone  to  Mrs.  Neth- 
ercote's.  The  baby  is  sick,  and  Mother  sent  me  and 
Pluto  over  here  to  eat  you  out  of  house  and  home  till  she 
gets  back." 

Mrs.  Lamond,  who  had  feared  every  sound  in  the  days 
of  imaginary  evils,  had  grown  courageous  when  real  dan 
gers  threatened.  To-day  she  was  miles  away,  helping 
a  mother  with  a  sick  baby  —  the  same  baby  that  Patty 
had  cared  for  during  the  preaching  service  at  Palmyra. 

"Oh  Beth,  everybody  most  is  sick,"  Patty  said  dole 
fully,  but  she  could  not  be  gloomy  long.  "  You  and  me 
is  all  right  though.  Let's  do  something." 

But  to  the  little  Yankee's  plans  Beth  was  deaf. 

"Patty  Wren,  you  shall  not  go  to  Lawrence  alone," 
the  girl  declared.  "  Mrs.  Darrow  will  get  through  the 
night  somehow.  You  said  Tarley  can  stay  with  her. 
I  'm  going  with  you." 

"But  what  will  your  Ma  say,  Beth?"  urged  Patty. 

"She  isn't  where  she  can  say  anything  right  now. 
She 's  helping  the  sick,  and  that 's  what  I  'm  going  to  do." 

"  But  I  'm  not  afraid  to  go  alone,  really."  Patty  was 
giving  in,  for  she  was  only  a  woman  and  the  dangers  of 
the  frontier  were  very  clear  to  all  the  women  here. 

Beth  thought  quickly. 


142  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Patty,  we  can  get  to  Abbott's  place  before  it  is  very 
dark  if  we  ride  fast.  Then  we  can  get  to  Lawrence  early 
in  the  morning.  Nobody  would  stop  us.  Just  two 
women,  in  the  daylight,  and  we  can  get  a  doctor  or  medi 
cine  and  be  here  again  by  to-morrow  afternoon,  if  we 
hurry.  Poor  little  Joe!  and  Mark  so  helpless.  Oh 
Patty,  it 's  awful  the  suffering  all  this  brings,  besides  the 
danger  to  the  men  who  defend  the  Territory,"  and  the 
girl's  face  grew  sad. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  two,  with  big  Pluto  and  vicious 
little  Cotton  Mather,  were  speeding  away  to  the  north 
ward. 

In  the  same  gray  morning  hour  wherein  White  Turkey 
was  rousing  Winthrop  Merriford  from  his  slumbers,  Beth 
and  Patty  were  beginning  the  last  lap  of  their  journey. 
The  growing  darkness  had  tested  their  courage  on  the 
evening  before.  This  morning  they  were  buoyant  and 
fearless.  Although  the  way  was  rough  and  shaded  in 
places,  the  light  was  growing  and  the  day  would  be  clear. 
They  could  not  believe  any  danger  could  threaten  them, 
although  Mrs.  Abbott  was  loath  to  have  them  go  on 
alone. 

"The  woods  and  hollows  are  full  of  dangerous  men," 
she  warned  them.  "  Be  as  careful  as  you  can.  I  can  only 
trust  you  to  the  Lord." 

"  Well,  we  're  safer  with  Him  than  anybody  else,  Whig 
or  Tory,"  Patty  answered,  half  in  reverence,  half  in  jest, 
and  the  two  rode  away. 

Elliot  Darrow  upon  Mount  Oread,  watching  the  day 
dawn  in  the  far  southeast  and  noting  how  deep  were  the 
purple  shadows  of  night  about  every  ravine  and  spot  of 
woodland,  did  not  dream  as  he  stood  at  sentinel  duty 
above  the  town,  how  full  of  peril  to  one  he  loved,  was  one 
dark  hollow  away  to  the  southward. 


THE    UNPROTECTED  143 

The  crimson  waves  of  sunrise  were  just  pulsing 
through  the  tree-tops  as  Beth  and  Patty  rode  from  the 
level  plain  into  the  dim  twilight  of  a  lonely  thicket-filled 
ravine.  The  roadway  was  narrow  and  winding,  leading 
down  to  the  dry  bed  of  a  sometime  stream  of  water. 
Beyond  this  point  the  road  wound  again  by  two  or  three 
turns  to  the  open  prairie.  At  the  last  turn,  just  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ravine  where  the  bushes  grew  thickest, 
and  the  deep  shade  made  darkness  at  this  hour,  Patty 
and  Beth  came  suddenly  upon  two  men  who  filled  the 
way.  Before  the  startled  women  had  time  to  make  a 
motion  or  outcry  two  other  horsemen  broke  through  the 
thicket  behind  them,  closing  the  way  of  retreat,  and 
crowding  their  horses  alongside  the  women's.  All  four 
were  heavily  armed  and  with  their  coarse  clothing  and 
brutal  unshaven  faces  they  would  have  sent  terror  to 
stronger  hearts  than  the  hearts  of  these  helpless  women. 

"  Oh  Lord,"  Patty  gasped,  folding  her  little  hard  hands 
imploringly,  "if  You  don't  work  a  miracle  we're  done 
for." 

Beth's  face  was  very  white  beneath  its  golden  crown 
of  hair,  and  her  dark  eyes  burned  with  a  strange  glow. 
All  the  fighting  blood  of  the  old  Clan  Lamond  thrilled 
her  pulses  then,  and  her  voice  was  clear  as  she  said: 

"We  are  going  after  some  medicine  for  a  sick  boy. 
Will  you  let  us  pass?" 

The  foremost  rider  of  the  two  in  front  fell  back  before 
the  strength  of  that  voice,  but  his  companion  pushed 
forward  against  Pluto's  shoulder. 

"  Let  the  little  peewee  go  after  the  medicine.  Shoo 
her  on,  boys.  We  won't  bother  her."  He  caught  Patty's 
bridle  as  he  spoke  and  gave  her  pony  a  forward  jerk. 
"  This  is  that  Scotchman  Lamond's  girl.  He  was  in  the 
gang  that  held  up  Sheriff  Jones  and  took  Branson  away 


144  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

from  us.  Anybody  belongin'  to  him  or  that  Quaker 
abolitionist,  Darrow,  is  ours." 

"  It 's  a  pity  they  ain't  none  of  'em  to  be  found  to  de 
fend  their  own  women.  Now 's  our  chance  to  get  even," 
and  with  a  brutal  oath  the  man  behind  Beth  crowded 
between  her  horse  and  Patty's. 

"  Maybe  she  'd  give  us  each  a  kiss,"  the  third  horseman 
said,  with  an  insulting  grin,  as  he  urged  his  horse  forward 
beside  the  girl's. 

Beth's  firm  white  fist  struck  swift  and  hard  straight 
into  the  ruffian's  face  with  a  force  that  told,  for  he  jerked 
his  horse  back  until  it  sat  upon  its  haunches. 

In  the  midst  of  the  plunging  and  cursing  that  followed, 
the  man  who  would  have  given  up  the  attack  closed  in 
again  behind  the  others  when  he  saw  his  companions 
were  not  with  him. 

So  every  band  of  criminals  has  its  one  or  more  who  do 
not  dare  either  to  fight  or  to  run. 

Patty's  courage  got  its  second  hold  with  Beth's  resist 
ance  and  she  whirled  Cotton  Mather  about,  crying: 

"  Turn  'round,  Beth,  we  can  get  out  this  way." 

But  the  horseman  behind  her  lunged  forward,  sepa 
rating  the  two  entirely,  as  he  cried  out  savagely : 

"Now's  the  time  to  make  old  Lamond  pay  the  cash. 
Close  in,  boys." 

Beth's  heart  stood  still,  but  her  clutch  on  her  bridle 
rein  did  not  loosen,  and  she  faced  her  tormentors  with 
defiant  eyes. 

"Close  in!     Close  in!"  the  others  cried. 

"Yes,  close  in!  Into  the  woods  as  fast  as  you  can, 
you  devils ! "  And  Craig  Penwin  on  a  roan  horse,  came 
crashing  through  the  thicket  into  the  road  behind  them. 

The  horsemen  started  at  the  sudden  appearance,  and 
he  who  had  first  fallen  back  slid  to  the  edge  of  the  brush 


THE    UNPROTECTED  145 

quickly.  But  the  other  three,  seeing  only  one  man, 
waited  a  moment. 

"Who  are  you?  There's  only  one;  we  can  manage 
him,"  the  foremost  rider  declared. 

"  Let  these  women  alone  and  get  out  of  sight  this 
minute,"  Craig's  voice  rang  out  commandingly.  "I'll 
fight  all  four  of  you  if  you  don't,  but  there  will  be  one 
dead  man  besides  myself  when  we  're  done." 

"That's  Colonel  Penwin's  boy.  We've  got  to  run," 
one  rider  urged.  "  We  '11  get  even  with  old  Lamond  yet, 
in  spite  of  you,"  and  with  more  mutterings  the  four  slunk 
away  from  view  around  a  bend  in  the  bushes,  while 
rescuer  and  rescued  hastened  on  to  town. 

Craig  Penwin  did  not  wait  long  in  Lawrence.  While 
Beth  and  Patty  were  explaining  the  purpose  of  their 
coming  he  dismounted,  and  leading  the  black  horse  to  its 
owner,  with  a  courteous  salute  gave  over  its  bridle  rein. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Lamond,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  It  came 
my  way  to  see  that  nothing  should  harm  these  two 
women."  Then  with  a  certain  stiffening  of  form  and 
dignity  of  manner,  he  added,  "We  Southerners  are  not 
all  of  the  rabble  type,  like  those  over  on  the  Wakarusa. 
You  cannot  even  judge  us  by  our  fathers  always.  I 
would  not  lift  my  hand  against  a  Free-State  man  in 
Kansas,  unless  I  had  other  cause  against  him.  Good 
morning,  sir."  And  he  was  off. 

"There's  a  fine  boy.  What  a  pity  he's  a  Penwin," 
Lamond  said  to  himself.  "We  get  almost  too  bitter  to 
be  just  ourselves  in  these  days  of  unjust  deeds." 

Hiram  Darrow's  anxiety  for  his  own  son  and  his  sense 
of  duty  struggled  only  briefly. 

"  I  am  only  one  of  many  here  who  are  needed  at  home. 
I  will  trust  that  my  family  will  be  kept  safe,"  he  said  to 
David  Lamond. 


146  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  You  are  right,  Darrow.  Some  of  the  men  are  ready 
to  give  up  now.  Colonel  Lane  has  his  hands  full;  they 
are  all  so  uneasy.  If  you  go  they  will  complain,  or  call 
you  a  coward,  or  both,  and  we  need  you  more  than  we  do 
most  men." 

"I  am  going  home,  father,"  Elliot  said.  "I  do  not 
think  Lawrence  needs  me  as  much  as  mother  does." 

Lamond  looked  curiously  at  him  as  he  said  this. 

"All  our  wives  and  mothers  need  us,  Elliot,  but  we 
need  young  men  here." 

"  Is  thee  sure  thee  ought  to  go,  Elliot?  I  have  not  felt 
a  call  to  go  away  from  here,"  his  father  said. 

"I  was  warned  by  an  Indian  that  I  should  go  home, 
and  I  know  I  must.  I'm  going  back  with  Beth.  Mrs. 
Merriford  wants  Patty  to  stay  here  a  few  days.  I  '11  come 
back  again  as  soon  as  I  can."  Elliot  spoke  earnestly  and 
with  decision. 

But  the  sturdy,  practical  Scotchman  had  little  use  for 
warnings  and  calls. 

"  Would  you  be  as  zealous  to  stay  if  an  Indian  warned 
you  not  to  go?  "  He  could  not  keep  back  the  question. 

Elliot's  face  flushed  deeply.  Then  the  color  ebbed 
away,  leaving  it  very  white,  while  his  dark  eyes  blazed 
with  a  steady  light. 

"  If  I  thought  only  of  myself,  I  might  be,"  he  answered 
quietly. 

Had  David  Lamond  known  then  of  Pelathe's  urgent 
pleading  with  the  young  Quaker  he  might  have  judged 
the  boy  differently.  As  it  was  he  could  not  banish  the 
belief  that  love  of  comfort,  and  personal  cowardice,  and 
a  trace  of  foolish  superstition  were  taking  from  Law 
rence  in  her  hour  of  peril  one  of  the  most  trustworthy 
and  promising  boys,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  capable 
in  every  position  in  which  he  had  been  tried.  The 


THE     UNPROTECTED  147 

thought  of  it  boded  nothing  good  for  Elliot's  future,  as 
it  concerned  the  loyal-hearted  Scotchman. 

Beth  could  not  leave  her  mother  long  and  she  was 
eager  to  get  beyond  the  Wakarusa  in  midday.  Patty 
had  exploited  their  escape  from  the  ruffians  with  un 
stinted  praise  for  Beth's  coolness,  but  the  girl  was  now 
in  a  fever  of  excitement,  and  she  longed  for  the  shelter 
of  the  stone  homestead  in  the  Vinland  Valley. 

"  My  daughter,"  David  Lamond  said,  as  he  took  Beth 
aside  for  a  good-by  word,  "take  good  care  of  mother, 
while  I  am  doing  my  duty  here,  and,  Lassie  " —  his  voice 
was  very  tender — "Lassie,  dearie,  whatever  happens  to 
me,  don't  ever  tie  friendship  with  a  coward.  This  world 
is  n't  big  enough  to  hold  the  man  who  deserts  his  country 
for  his  own  safety.  Don't  forget  that." 

He  kissed  her  good-by,  and  Beth  guessed  only  dimly 
at  what  he  might  mean. 

The  midday  was  beautiful,  and  while  danger  lurked  in 
every  sheltered  draw,  and  the  open  plains  but  made  them 
an  easy  target  for  the  enemy,  and  while  their  need  for 
speeding  on  their  way  was  insistent,  the  two  young 
people  forgot  again,  as  they  had  done  before,  that  there 
was  an  unexplained  misunderstanding  between  them. 

"Elliot,  are  you  really  afraid  to  stay  up  there  any 
longer?  Papa  says  an  Indian  told  you  to  go  home.* 
Beth  put  the  question  gently. 

"  Right  now  I  'm  not  afraid  of  anything.  I  am  un 
armed.  It  remains  to  be  seen  how  brave  I  should  be  i) 
I  were  in  such  a  position  as  Craig  was  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  Craig  was  grand,  but  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it, 
it  was  so  awful,"  Beth  shuddered.  "  Let 's  not  talk  of 
that.  Were  you  really  warned  to  go  home  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Elliot  answered.     "The  message  was  plain." 

"  But  Elliot,  that  seems  so " 


148  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"Cowardly?" 

"  No,  not  quite  that,"  Beth  hastened  to  say.  "  Only  if 
somebody  had  said,  '  Don't  go.  Your  life  is  in  danger 
if  you  do,'  wouldn't  you  have  felt  like  staying  in  Law 
rence?" 

"I  was  told  that  this  morning,"  Elliot  replied. 

"  Sure?  I  thought  you  said  you  were  told  to  go."  She 
look  puzzled. 

"Beth,  a  Shawnee  Indian  came  up  on  Mount  Oread 
after  me  this  morning,  and  on  the  way  down  he  warned 
me  not  to  leave  Lawrence.  Less  than  three  hours  ago, 
White  Turkey,  the  Delaware,  who  came  to  see  your 
father  last  October,  urged  me  to  go  home." 

Beth's  face  was  full  of  happiness,  and  the  young 
Quaker  remembered  his  own  reflection  of  the  early  morn 
ing:  "After  all,  I'm  afraid  I  might  be  just  as  rude 
again."  But  a  new  feeling  had  crept  into  his  being,  a 
dignity  Beth  had  never  known  in  him  before  seemed  to 
put  a  barrier  about  him. 

"Then  you  aren't  a  coward,  are  you?" 

"  Did  you  think  I  would  be?  "  he  queried. 

"Oh,  I  never  thought  you  could  be,"  she  exclaimed, 
and  for  the  first  time  she  noted  now  strong  was  his  hand 
holding  the  bridle  rein. 

"Then  don't  think  it  now,"  he  said  quietly,  and  they 
began  to  talk  of  other  things. 

"Don't  come  on,"  Beth  said,  as  they  reached  the  by- 
trail  leading  to  her  home. 

"I  must  see  that  you  are  safe,"  he  insisted,  and  they 
hurried  up  the  way. 

"  Good-by.  I  '11  be  going  back  to  Lawrence  again  if  I 
can  leave  mother."  Elliot  took  Beth's  hand,  and  looked 
down  into  her  eyes. 

Somehow  the  daylight  faded  for  the  girl,  and  a  moonlit 


THE    UNPROTECTED  149 

night  came  again  with  all  its  filmy  veil  of  lights  and 
shadows  interwoven.  And  Elliot  Darrow's  white  face, 
and  dark  eyes,  and  heavy  dark  hair  shading  his  forehead, 
and  the  sweetness  of  love's  first  kiss,  all  swept  up  in 
memory,  and  with  these  the  sense  of  indignation,  and 
surprise,  and  sudden  loneliness  when  he  was  gone. 

And  here  was  Elliot  in  the  light  of  day.  The  same 
handsome  face,  the  same  magnetic  attractiveness  of  a 
strong  personality  shorn  of  the  dross  of  coarseness,  dig 
nified,  lovable.  The  eyes  were  no  less  full  of  tenderness 
in  that  brief  moment,  but  the  mastery  of  manhood  had 
usurped  the  pleading  spirit  of  boyhood.  A  gentle  pres 
sure  of  the  hand,  warm,  strong,  with  that  fulness  of 
meaning  no  word  can  express,  and  he  was  gone. 

The  day  had  been  long  for  Isabel  Darrow.  She  had 
sent  Tarleton  home  in  the  early  morning,  and  as  the  fore 
noon  passed,  Joe  grew  more  restless,  and  Mark  broke  all 
law  in  his  efforts  to  help  his  mother.  The  result  was  not 
even  the  easy  chair  for  him,  but  two  boys  in  bed  instead 
of  one. 

Added  to  this,  strange  horsemen  had  gone  back  and 
forth  on  the  Trail  to-day.  And  once  two  horsemen  had 
started  toward  the  house,  and  then  suddenly  wheeled 
about,  and  ridden  slowly  away  again.  She  fancied  they 
resembled  the  men  who  had  called  to  ask  the  way  to 
Penwin's  on  the  night  of  Branson's  arrest. 

Yet,  Isabel  was  a  woman  of  habitual  poise  of  spirit, 
and  when  her  hand  and  brain  were  wearied,  and  her 
heart  heavy  she  repeated  softly  to  herself  the  sweet  old 
Bible  promise  r 

"Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is 
stayed  on  Thee." 

Or  a  line  of  the  beloved  Quaker  poet,  Whittier,  came 
to  her  lips: 


150  A    WALL     OF    MEN 

Know  well,  my  soul,  God's  hand  controls 

Whate'er  thou  fearest}- 
Round  him  in  calmest  music  rolls 

Whate'er  thou  hearest. 

What  to  thee  is  shadow,  to  Him  is  day, 

And  the  end  He  knoweth, 
And  not  on  a  blind  and  aimless  way 

The  spirit  goeth. 

As  the  long  hours  went  slowly  by,  a  sense  of  unrest, 
and  of  impending  danger  seized  the  Quaker  mother,  a 
longing  for  companionship,  a  nameless  fear,  and  a  crav 
ing  for  help,  that  would  not  be  overcome.  There  are 
souls  organized  so  finely  that  they  respond  to  the  throb 
of  the  great  impending  events  that  mark  the  pulse  beats 
of  a  life  story. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  faint  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
brought  Isabel  to  the  front  window.  Three  horsemen 
were  riding  slouchily  down  the  Trail,  evidently  with  no 
particular  aim  in  their  going.  They  turned  to  look  up 
toward  the  Darrow  home  again  and  again,  before  they 
passed  out  of  view.  A  great  fear  swept  down  upon  the 
lone  mother,  and  lifting  her  clasped  hands,  she  prayed 
for  protection  in  her  defenceless  hour.  Then,  sure  of  the 
All-Father's  love,  she  turned  bravely  to  her  tasks  again, 
with  face  serene,  and  soul  courageous. 

A  cry  from  Mark,  and  the  mother  looked  up  to  see 
Elliot  standing  in  the  hall  doorway.  Mother  love  has 
wonderful  vision.  In  that  moment  Isabel  saw  more  than 
her  broad-shouldered  first-born  son  smiling  down  upon 
her  as  he  opened  his  arms  to  receive  her.  She  saw  that 
the  boy  who  went  away  to  defend  a  city  had  uncon 
sciously  grown  to  the  stature  of  a  man.  In  days  so  few 
in  number  they  might  almost  be  counted  by  their  hours, 
with  no  great  crisis  in  affairs  or  soul-stirring  event  to 


THE    UNPROTECTED  151 

bring  it  about,  the  call  to  arms,  and  the  gathering  of  the 
hosts  of  the  enemy  had  wrought  the  world-old  miracle. 
She  saw  even  further  in  that  brief  instant,  so  keen  is 
mother  love.  Her  vision  took  in  a  man  of  magnetic  per 
sonality,  and  inherent  power.  What  were  the  pride  and 
joy  of  the  queen  regent  when  she  sees  her  son  on  his 
coronation  day  crowned  king  of  his  realm,  to  the  pride 
and  joy  of  this  pioneer  mother  whose  princely  son  wore 
now  in  her  eyes  the  crown  of  his  young  manhood,  a 
realm  wherein  he  might  rule  to  power,  and  she  prayed, 
and  fondly  believed,  to  wonderful  usefulness.  "  Mothers 
have  God's  license  "  to  such  hope. 

"  Home  on  a  furlough,  mother.  Father  is  well.  Law 
rence  hasn't  fallen  yet.  Patty  is  at  Merriford's  and  — 
Beth  is  safe  at  home."  Did  his  voice  deepen  with  the 
last  item  of  news?  It  may  only  have  seemed  so. 

"Oh,  Elliot,  my  blessed  boy,  we  are  so  glad  to  have 
thee  here  again." 

And  then,  from  weariness  and  sudden  relaxation,  Isabel 
sank  down  beside  him. 

"Thee  shall  rest  a  night  and  a  day,  dear.  I'll  take 
care  of  this  hospital  now.  I'm  loaded  with  medicine 
and  directions  from  Doctor  St.  Felix,  a  new  man  just 
come  to  town.  We'll  have  Joe  doing  sentinel  duty  up 
in  the  Darrarat  by  the  time  the  Dogs  of  War  get  to  this 
valley."  And  Elliot,  cool-handed  and  strong,  took  pos 
session  of  things. 

He  never  said  "  You  "  to  his  mother.  However  much 
the  Quaker  children  might  use  the  language  of  the  world 
to  their  brothers  and  sisters,  they  always  remembered 
to  say  "Thee"  to  the  father  and  mother. 

The  fire  burned  cheerily  on  the  broad  stone  hearth. 
There  was  no  other  light  in  the  house.  Isabel  was  sleep 
ing  the  sweet  slumber  of  tired  mind  and  muscle.  Mark 


152  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

had  at  last  heard  enough  of  the  war  on  the  Wakarusa 
and  had  also  fallen  asleep.  Only  Elliot  with  little  Joe 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  on  his  lap  sat  in  the  soft  light  of 
the  fireplace,  rocking  gently  to  and  fro  and  seeing 
visions  of  heroic  deeds. 

Outside  the  south  window,  deep  in  the  shadows  of  the 
night,  three  forms  were  concealed.  Three  faces  peered 
cautiously  in.  Three  right  hands  held  murderous  pistols, 
ready  for  instant  use.  They  were  the  men  who  had  been 
in  Sheriff  Jones'  company  on  the  night  of  the  rescue  of 
Branson,  the  men  who  had  met  Patty  and  Beth  in  the 
ravine  beyond  the  Wakarusa  in  the  early  morning.  They 
were  half  tipsy  with  drink  then.  The  sudden  failure  of 
their  infamous  scheme  had  made  them  only  more  deter 
mined  to  get  their  revenge  somewhere,  they  cared  little 
where,  so  it  was  wreaked  on  an  abolitionist,  or  his  home, 
and  loved  ones.  The  coward  among  them,  the  soberest 
of  the  quartette,  had  fallen  out  of  the  gang  to-day.  The 
others,  vengeful  as  they  were,  knew  they  did  not  dare 
now  to  molest  one  whom  Boniface  Penwin's  son  had 
protected,  and  the  Lamond  household  was  safe.  But  the 
unguarded  Darrow  home  offered  even  better  sport.  Here 
they  could  loot,  burn  and  kidnap  as  they  chose.  From 
Palmyra  to  Lawrence  there  were  not  men  enough  to  re 
sist  the  three  in  an  open  daylight  encounter.  How  easy 
then  at  night  to  fall  upon  the  one  lone  homestead  and 
leave  it  a  heap  of  ashes.  So  they  reasoned,  but  they  did 
not  reason  much,  nor  coherently.  They  were  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  lawless  warfare  —  the  blood-lust  only  an  evil 
cause  can  inflame. 

And  so  the  men  had  spied  out  the  land  in  the  early 
afternoon,  and  had  their  brutal  purpose  well  fledged  for 
full  accomplishment,  waiting  only  the  hours  of  darkness 
for  their  time  of  execution. 


THE    UNPROTECTED  153 

In  his  haste  to  reach  home  Elliot  had  ridden  straight 
across  the  prairie  from  Lamond's  instead  of  following  the 
trail.  What  might  have  happened  to  the  unarmed  boy 
had  he  taken  the  main  road,  did  happen  some  hours  later 
to  an  innocent  unarmed  man  on  his  homeward  way.  As 
it  was,  the  unexpected  sight  of  a  big  manly  fellow  here 
had  checked  them  temporarily.  The  hour  grew  late,  but 
still  Joe  lay  wakeful  in  his  brother's  arms,  and  both  were 
unconscious  of  evil  hands  so  near,  of  evil  eyes  watching 
their  every  motion. 

"  Sing  to  me,  Ellie,  I  'm  lonely  for  some  singing."  Joe 
had  seemed  to  draw  strength  with  the  coming  of  his 
strong,  big  brother,  and  for  the  first  time  since  his  illness 
was  able  to  be  out  of  bed.  "Sing,  Ellie,  mother  and 
Mark  will  think  it 's  angels  —  or  a  nightmare."  Joe  was 
never  too  sick  to  joke. 

Outside  the  men  watched  eagerly  with  hatred  in  their 
hearts.  They  could  not  think  of  others  of  kinder  natures 
than  their  own.  They  thought  all  men  hated.  They 
did  not  know  what  mercy  means. 

It  was  growing  very  cold  without.  Within,  the  warm 
glow  of  the  wood  fire  fell  on  little  Joe's  thin  face,  and 
accented  the  white  forehead  and  dark  hair  of  the  older 
brother.  It  was  a  tenderly  sweet  picture  of  a  love  those 
murderous  men  had  never  known  or  had  lost  with  the 
lost  years.  A  minute  or  two  more  and  the  game  must 
begin. 

"Sing,  Ellie,"  Joe  pleaded,  cuddling  down  in  Elliot's 
warm  embrace. 

Then,  sweet  and  clear  and  strong,  welling  up  with 
power,  the  man's  voice  was  lifted  in  the  rich  melody  of 
song.  Even,  harmonious,  resonant,  with  a  sympathy  that 
was  appealing,  and  a  strength  that  was  compelling,  Elliot 
sang  the  grand  old  hymn: 


154  AWALLOFMEN 

There's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy 

Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea, 
There's  a  kindness  in  his  justice 

That  is  more  than  liberty. 

For  the  love  of  God  is  broader 
Than  the  measure  of  man's  mind, 

And  the  heart  of  the  Eternal 
Is  most  wonderfully  kind. 

Outside  in  the  dark  and  cold  three  men  stood  motion 
less.  Dreams  of  childhood  days,  of  old  home  ties,  of  the 
better  things  of  life,  when  their  world  was  young  and 
souls  were  innocent,  swept  the  seared  hearts  and  touched 
to  old  vibrations  the  toughened  heart  strings. 

"  My  God !  boys,  I  can't  do  it,"  the  leader  exclaimed  as 
the  singing  ceased.  "I  can't.  You  may  kill  me  if  you 
want  to.  My  mother  sang  that  song  when  I  was  a  boy 
like  that  little  cuss  I  had  my  aim  on  just  now." 

A  cold  shiver,  the  bitterness  of  midnight,  shook  their 
limbs,  and,  baffled  and  dazed  by  a  power  they  could  not 
comprehend,  they  stared  about  them  as  if  to  find  the  men 
who  had  come  hither  an  hour  ago. 

A  neighing  of  horses  tied  down  beyond  the  evergreens 
startled  them.  They  could  not  tell  what  happened  next. 
For  when  they  did  get  their  senses  Elliot  Darrow  had 
come  straight  out  to  where  they  stood,  and  to  their 
mumbled  plea  of  being  lost  had  led  them  inside. 

By  the  warm  fire,  with  kindly  words,  and  a  sense  of 
human  welcome,  and  fearless  friendliness,  they  never 
knew  how  they  managed  to  each  tell  the  same  story  of 
being  belated,  and  of  homes  to  the  east  they  were 
anxious  to  reach.  They  knew,  indeed,  that  shelter  and 
food  were  given  where  they  had  expected  to  make  ruin 
and  woe.  They  never  knew,  nor  did  their  host  dream, 


THE    UNPROTECTED  155 

until  long  afterward,  that  the  prophecy  of  the  Palmyra 
preacher  was  being  fulfilled,  that  Elliot  was  winning  a 
battle  with  the  power  of  his  voice. 


CHAPTER    XI 
A    WARLIKE    PEACE 

When  he  shows  as  seeking  quarter,  with  paws  like  hands  in 

prayer, 

That  is  the  time  of  peril — the  time  of  the  Truce  of  the  Bear. 

—  Rudyard  Kipling. 

WHAT  might  have  happened  to  Elliot  Darrow  had 
he  taken  the  main  Trail  home  from  Lamond's 
instead  of  speeding  straight  across  the  uneven  prairie  to 
his  father's  house,  the  same  did  happen  to  an  innocent 
man  on  his  homeward  way  on  that  same  afternoon.  And 
a  name  hitherto  unknown  was  fixed  for  immortality  in 
the  history  of  a  young  commonwealth. 

The  Wakarusa  War  was  marked  by  all  the  stirring 
incident  and  terror,  and  suffering  of  warfare,  but  it  had 
no  battle  in  its  record.  The  lull  that  followed  these  hos 
tilities  was  checkered  through  with  plunder  and  lawless 
ness  and  strife  and  bloodshed.  And  for  these  sturdy 
pioneers  the  Dove  of  Peace  was  a  more  fearful  omen 
than  the  Dogs  of  War. 

On  the  afternoon  while  Beth  and  Elliot  were  hurrying 
toward  the  Vinland  Valley  important  events  were  taking 
place  in  the  besieged  town  on  the  Kaw.  The  guards 
were  still  vigilant;  the  work  of  strengthening  the  forti 
fied  entrances,  and  the  lines  of  defence  on  either  side  of 
Massachusetts  Street,  was  pushed  vigorously ;  the  soldiers 
drilled  steadily;  and  up  on  Mount  Oread  the  sentinel 
kept  watchful  eyes  for  the  threatening  forces  on  the 
borders  of  the  Wakarusa.  The  lack  of  cannon  and  am- 

156 


A    WARLIKE    PEACE  157 

munition  for  defence  against  a  merciless  foe,  and  the 
knowledge  that  now  the  United  States  troops  were 
authorized  to  join  the  Missouri  militia  against  the  be 
sieged  forces  made  the  odds  of  war  appalling. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  as  Merriford  with  Lamond  and 
Speer  stood  before  Doctor  Robinson's  headquarters,  a 
young  man  came  out  to  mount  his  horse.  He  was  un 
armed,  and  his  manner  was  that  of  a  quiet  gentleman 
attending  to  personal  business. 

"Where  to,  now,  Barber?"  inquired  Merriford.  "I 
hope  you  are  n't  going  to  desert  us." 

"  No  indeed,"  Lamond  added.  "  We  lost  one  good 
fellow  to-day,  got  a  little  cold  chill  in  his  courage,  I'm 
afraid." 

"  If  you  mean  young  Darrow,"  Barber  answered,  "  you 
are  making  a  mistake  on  courage.  However,  I  '11  be  here 
early  in  the  morning.  I'm  just  going  home  for  the  night. 
My  wife,  was  so  distressed  when  I  left  I  thought  I  'd 
show  her  I  'm  all  right.  Good-by,  I  '11  soon  see  you  fel 
lows  again.  Take  care  of  Lawrence  until  I  get  back," 
and  swinging  into  his  saddle  he  rode  away. 

"Fine  fellow  that,"  Merriford  said.  "See  how  erect 
and  firm  he  sits  in  his  saddle." 

"  Do  you  know,  Merriford,"  Lamond  exclaimed,  "  I  am 
continually  wondering  at  the  class  of  men  a  year  and  a 
half  has  brought  to  this  frontier ;  scholarly,  gentlemanly, 

earnest  men.  Take  young  Barber  now "  Lamond 

looked  after  the  horseman  galloping  easily  away  toward 
the  edge  of  town.  "What  a  future  a  State  must  have 
with  young  men  like  him." 

At  that  instant,  Barber,  who  had  reached  a  turn  in  the 
street,  looked  back  toward  the  three  men,  and  waving 
his  hand  in  farewell  passed  from  sight. 

"Good-by,  God  bless  him."    There  were  tears  in  the 


158  AWALLOFMEN 

lawyer's  eyes.  "Do  you  know,  Lamond,  I  never  see  a 
young  man  like  that  without  thinking  of  my  own  boy, 
Neil.  I  Ve  not  heard  from  him  for  weeks.  How  I  wish 
he  was  here." 

"You  arc  a  young  looking  man  to  have  a  grown-up 
son,  Merriford,"  John  Speer  said,  looking  at  the  lawyer. 
"How  old  is  he?" 

"  Neil  is  only  twenty-two.  Young  Darrow  makes  me 
think  of  him  every  day.  He's  about  the  same  build. 
They  could  almost  be  mistaken  for  each  other  in  the 
dark.  Neil  is  having  a  little  affair  of  the  heart  now. 
Just  the  age  to  take  things  seriously,  you  know;"  and 
the  lawyer  smiled. 

A  shout,  a  hallooing,  and  then  a  roar  of  voices  called 
their  attention.  Down  the  street  a  crowd  was  gathering 
about  a  loaded  wagon  in  front  of  the  Eldridge  House, 
and  they  hurried  to  join  the  company.  Two  men  stood 
smiling  triumphantly  beside  their  team,  answering  the 
questions  put  by  the  eager  crowd. 

By  cleverest  stratagem  and  daring,  a  twelve-pound 
cannon  in  this  wagon  had  been  brought  up  from  West- 
port  carefully  boxed,  like  a  carriage  packed  for  shipping, 
and  hidden  under  innocent  looking  mattresses  and  other 
furniture. 

"  Yes,  we  saw  plenty  of  men  who  would  have  killed  us 
if  they  had  known  what  we  were  up  to,"  one  man  was 
saying.  "  At  an  ugly  place  in  the  road  we  asked  a  bunch 
of  innocent  bystanders  to  help  push  our  wagon  up  the 
slippery  bank  out  of  the  mud,  and  they  fell  to  like  good 
fellows,  and  sweated  and  tramped  mud  and  swore  at  the 
roads,  never  dreaming  they  were  pushing  a  cannon  on 
toward  Lawrence  with  every  grunt.  If  they  had  known 
what  was  in  the  wagon  there 'd  have  been  a  wayside 


A    WARLIKE    PEACE  159 

tragedy  to  match  up  along  with  the  murder  of  Dow  and 
arrest  of  Branson." 

"  Darrow  was  right  last  night,"  John  Speer  declared, 
as  he  listened  to  the  men.  "It  is  a  fair  day  for  us.  I 
hope  Mrs.  Woods  and  Mrs.  Brown  will  get  here  soon 
and  bring  with  them  what  they  went  to  get.  They  left 
town  early  for  a  long  drive  to  Mrs.  Brown's  father's 
place.  They  have  taken  fearful  chances  to-day,  and  their 
success  is  our  salvation." 

And  this  was  true ;  for  in  the  morning  of  this  day,  two 
Lawrence  women,  Margaret  Wood  and  Lois  Brown,  had 
dared  to  go  out  for  stores  of  ammunition  concealed  on  a 
settler's  claim  many  miles  away.  This  journey  promised 
only  death  to  men  if  they  should  attempt  it.  For  the 
women,  had  their  purpose  been  discovered,  the  anger 
and  cruelty  of  their  foes  can  hardly  be  guessed  at. 
Underneath  every  wall  of  men,  upreared  in  firmness  for 
a  nation's  defence,  if  we  but  dig  deep  enough,  we  shall 
find  the  foundation  stones  are  courageous  women's 
hearts.  And  these  two  women  had  taken  all  the  chances 
of  a  lawless  land,  where  human  passions  rioted  in  un 
restraint  that  they  might  bring  the  sinews  of  war  to  the 
defence  of  a  just  cause. 

Even  as  the  editor  was  speaking  a  shout  arose  down 
Massachusetts  Street  toward  the  south,  a  cry  caught 
up  and  repeated  from  house  to  house  and  fortified  point 
to  point. 

Down  the  broad  street,  rolling  in  with  the  gathering 
crowd  increasing  as  they  passed,  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs. 
Wood  came  loaded  with  their  precious  stores  of  powder 
and  lead.  Doctor  Robinson,  with  Colonel  Lane  and 
other  leading  men,  hurried  down  the  street  to  receive  the 
two  and  to  rejoice  in  their  courageous  feat. 

At  the   Eldridge   House  a  messenger  awaited   their 


160  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

return.  His  message  was  brief,  but  it  made  the  third 
moment  of  thanksgiving  for  this  December  afternoon. 

"Governor  Shannon  will  be  here  to-morrow  and  the 
end  of  the  war  may  be  in  sight." 

Then  the  hearts  of  the  people,  so  cast  down  twenty- 
four  hours  before,  rose  to  buoyancy  again ;  a  cannon  for 
defence;  ammunition  for  firearms;  and  the  Governor 
coming  to  Lawrence  to  see  for  himself  what  had  been 
reported  to  him  as  a  gang  of  ruffians,  knowing  no  law, 
resisting  all  civil  authority,  and  deadly  in  their  menace 
to  the  Territory.  The  sun  went  down  behind  Mount 
Oread,  and  the  shadows  of  evening  fell  on  the  be 
leaguered  town  wherein  hope  and  determination  had 
risen  anew  in  the  hearts  of  men. 

The  sun  went  down  beyond  the  rim  of  the  prairie,  and 
the  evening  shadows  gathered  about  a  far-away  cabin. 
A  lonely  young  wife  looked  out  across  the  wide  spaces 
and  listened  to  the  December  winds  sighing,  and  her 
spirit  sent  back  an  answering  sigh.  She  had  tried  to  be 
brave.  All  day  she  had  kept  her  hands  busy  that  she 
might  not  feel  the  burden  of  her  loneliness  and  her 
anxiety  for  the  safety  of  her  loved  one  gone  now  to  the 
defence  of  Lawrence.  But  when  twilight  came  and  she 
could  only  sit  and  think,  her  courage  ebbed  away.  To 
night  she  had  been  unusually  heavy-hearted,  so  she  tried 
to  dream  of  happier  things ;  to  fancy  her  husband  might 
even  now  be  on  his  way  home.  He  had  promised  to 
come  at  the  first  moment.  Her  face  grew  radiant  with 
love  as  she  thought  she  heard  a  horse's  feet  on  the  hard 
roadway.  Surely  he  must  be  coming,  for  the  sounds 
grew  louder,  and  the  horseman  was  making  straight  to 
her  door.  Oh,  the  happiness  of  meeting  is  so  sweet,  that 
the  sorrow  of  parting  is  soon  forgotten,  and  with  a  thrill 
of  thankfulness  and  joy  the  young  wife  went  forth  think- 


A    WARLIKE    PEACE  161 

ing  to  greet  her  loved  one.  And  the  shadows  of  evening 
deepened  into  the  duller  tones  of  night. 

Through  the  purple  twilight  of  this  December  evening 
a  courier  came  scurrying  up  from  the  southwest,  rushing 
as  the  bearer  of  evil  tidings  must  needs  rush,  with  the 
message  that  shall  wring  men's  hearts  with  grief  and 
rage.  Had  he  come  to  say  that  the  men  on  the  Waka- 
rusa  were  moving  upon  Lawrence,  it  would  have  been 
nothing  beyond  expectation.  But  the  news  he  bore  was 
of  a  wanton  assassination  of  a  defenceless  man  unarmed 
passing  peaceably  on  his  homeward  way.  No  cause  for 
the  act,  no  crime,  no  provocation  in  heated  quarrel,  no 
old  grudge  settled,  but  shot  in  the  back  by  the  leader  of 
a  band  of  Pro-Slavery  men,  he  fell  to  his  death.  And 
the  man  who  did  the  infamous  deed  rode  on  gaily  to  the 
Wakarusa  camp,  exulting  in  the  declaration  that  he  "  had 
sent  one  damned  abolitionist  to  his  winter  quarters." 

The  horse  whose  hoof-beats  the  lonely  young  wife  had 
heard  so  joyfully  bore  a  courier  to  that  cabin  door  also 
with  the  message  old  as  the  story  of  Abel,  but  with  no 
edge  of  its  heart-breaking  grief  ever  yet  softened  away. 
The  message  of  a  young  life  crushed  out  by  the  hand  of 
a  brother  Cain. 

Out  on  the  desolate  winter  prairie  young  Barber  lay 
white  and  still  where  he  had  fallen.  "Sent  to  winter 
quarters ! "  Nay,  sent  to  the  land  of  eternal  peace.  Sent 
to  a  martyr's  doom,  and  beyond  that  to  a  martyr's  im 
perishable  glory. 

Tenderly  the  body  was  borne  back  to  the  town  from 
which  only  a  few  hours  before  he  had  gone  out  so  strong 
and  hopeful,  and  the  men  who  had  last  talked  with  him 
looked  down  upon  him  with  dry  eyes  of  unspeakable 
sorrow.  Beautiful  in  death  the  young  form  lay,  mute 
witness  to  the  sacrifice  that  must  be  offered  up  before 


162  AWALLOFMEN 

the  dream  of  liberty  that  men  had  cherished  should  be 
come  the  law  of  the  land,  known  and  honored  of  all  men. 

Whether  it  was  the  silent  influence  of  the  martyred 
young  pioneer  so  still  in  death,  or  a  natural  sense  of 
justice,  or  a  will  too  weak  to  resist  the  last  wind  that 
blows  upon  it,  or  a  brain  muddled  with  too  much  drink, 
the  outcome  of  Governor  Shannon's  visit  was  a  truce  to 
hostilities  and  a  disbanding  of  the  forces  on  the  Waka- 
rusa.  Not  all  the  men  in  Lawrence  were  satisfied,  how 
ever,  for  they  saw  no  permanent  gain  in  the  temporary 
lull.  They  felt  themselves  no  safer  from  attack,  and  the 
Territory  in  no  wise  more  free  from  the  invading  law 
less  enemy,  nor  any  stronger  civil  power  to  which  they 
might  appeal  at  home. 

Volunteers  who  had  just  heard  the  call  for  aid  in  those 
slow-going  days  were  coming  in  daily.  Among  these  a 
wagon  carrying  five  stalwart  men  rattled  up  Massachu 
setts  street  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flying  above  it. 

"Now  who  comes  here  so  gallantly,  I  wonder?" 
Winthrop  Merriford  said,  as  he  caught  sight  of  this 
vehicle. 

"  That 's  Mars'r  John  Brown,  Mars'r  Merriford,"  Jupe 
explained. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  know  him,  Jupe  ?  "  queried  Merri 
ford. 

The  negro  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said  so  glibly  that 
Merriford  knew  he  was  lying,  "  Oh,  I  knowed  him  down 
Souf  —  used  to  live  in  Georgia  when  I  was  a  slave." 

"  He  did?    Is  he  a  Pro-Slavery  man?  " 

"  'Fore  God  Almighty,  no,  sah,"  Jupe  fairly  thundered 
back.  "  He 's  the  worstest  slave-hatin'  man  ever  come 
out  of  New  York,  sah." 

"  Thought  you  said  he  came  from  Georgia,"  Merriford 
said,  dryly. 


A    WARLIKE    PEACE  163 

"  Makes  no  difference  where  he  come  from.  It 's  where 
a  man's  gwine  to  what  counts  here  in  Kansas.  Don't 
pay  to  ask  too  close  'bout  none  of  us,  'cause  we  had  such 
sundry  and  divers  reasons  for  comin',  'specially  divers. 
Ef  we  had  n't  div  and  come  to  the  top  more  'n  onct  some 
of  us  'd  never  a  got  here,"  and  Jupe  grinned  broadly. 

"  I  guess  you  are  right,  Jupe.  It  makes  little  difference 
where  we  come  from  so  we  stand  up  solidly  here  and 
keep  our  balance.  Hold  that  in  mind  yourself,  and  run, 
now,  and  call  this  man  Brown  in  here.  I  want  to  know 
him." 

By  the  next  night  the  terms  of  peace  were  established. 
The  Free-State  men  were  allowed  to  keep  their  arms, 
which  had  been  at  first  Demanded  of  them,  and  the  right 
to  organize  a  militia  was  granted.  Whether  the  men  of 
Lawrence  or  the  men  in  Sheriff  Jones'  camp  despised 
Governor  Shannon  most,  it  were  hard  to  say. 

With  the  conclusion  of  the  treaty  the  forces  on  the 
Wakarusa  were  ordered  to  disperse.  Followed  then  a 
wild  rout  for  the  Eastern  border.  And  the  disorganized, 
angry,  disappointed  horde  swept  the  country,  raiding 
as  they  went.  Or,  intrenching  themselves  in  friendly 
quarters,  this  outlaw  pack  in  little  bands  scourged  the 
settlements,  filling  the  settlers'  homes  with  fear. 

On  the  evening  of  this  day  of  treaty  a  terrific  storm 
of  wind  and  sleet,  fit  token  of  a  warlike  peace,  fell  upon 
the  earth  with  blinding  fury.  Inside  of  Merriford's  office, 
snug  away  from  the  storm  without,  the  terms  of  the 
peace  treaty  were  riddled  through  with  heated  words. 
David  Lamond  and  Hiram  Darrow,  Lawyer  Merriford 
and  John  Speer,  with  others  of  smaller  influence,  made 
up  the  company  with  John  Brown,  Jupe's  "worstest 
hater  of  slavery,"  who  had  come  up  the  day  before  with 
the  flag  of  our  country  flying  above  his  wagon. 


164  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  Colonel  Lane  and  Doctor  Rob 
inson  don't  represent  me  when  they  argue  this  policy  of 
conciliation.  There  is  only  one  way  to  settle  this  busi 
ness,  and  that  is  to  fight  it  out.  No  stay  of  execution  is 
going  to  prevent  the  final  fall  of  the  ax."  Lamond  stood 
up  before  the  company  and  his  face  was  earnest  with 
determination. 

"That's  what  all  the  hot-headed  fellows  are  saying 
down  on  the  intrenchments,"  Merriford  returned.  "I 
believe,  however,  it  is  wise  to  settle  this  thing  peaceably 
now.  We  do  not  belittle  ourselves.  We  are  defending, 
not  attacking.  We  keep  our  arms.  The  Governor  allows 
us  to  organize  a  militia.  The  outsiders  go  back  home 
with  nothing  to  boast  of  but  two  weeks  of  camping  out, 
with  disagreeable  weather  and  hardly  the  necessities  of 
life.  We  cannot  win  this  thing  in  a  day,  Lamond,  nor 
by  one  battle." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  Hiram  Darrow  added.  "Every 
treaty  of  peace  is  a  degree  of  power.  The  real  battle  is 
not  on  the  field  but  in  the  souls  of  men,  and  there,  too, 
is  the  final  real  victory." 

"Neither  was  the  cross  on  Calvary  but  in  Geth- 
semane,"  John  Brown  exclaimed,  "  but  the  form  and  sign 
of  Calvary  have  ruled  the  race  for  eighteen  centuries. 
I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  we  have  gained  nothing,  but  wasted 
time."  In  the  dim  light  of  the  office  lamp  Brown's  face 
looked  stern,  and  his  eyes  were  burning  with  a  strange 
glow.  "Lamond  is  right,"  he  went  on.  "You  will  not 
see  happiness  growing  out  of  this  peace,  but  sorrow  and 
anguish  until  the  hour  when  the  crimes  of  the  land 
are  avenged." 

"  You  are  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  militia,  are  n't  you, 
Brown?"  Merriford  asked.  "You  will  have  some  power 
to  act.  I  know  this  is  a  time  of  truce  —  nothing  more. 


A    WARLIKE    PEACE  165 

But  the  winter  is  no  time  to  leave  women  and  children 
alone.  It  is  only  merciful  to  our  own  to  rest  on  our 
arms  awhile." 

"  Still,"  Speer  broke  in,  "  one  battle  might  have  ended 
the  whole  matter,  or  at  least  one  short  campaign  could 
have  done  it.  I  believe  in  finishing  a  work  once  begun, 
and  since  the  only  way  under  heaven  to  reach  the  end 
of  this  thing  is  to  strike  and  strike  hard,  it  might  better 
have  been  now  than  later.  I  hate  to  see  fortifications 
lying  around  waiting  to  be  used.  I  want  them  plowed 
down  and  set  to  garden  truck,  and  our  spears  used  for 
'pruning  hooks.'" 

"They  will  not  grow  potatoes  when  we  plow  them 
with  cannon  ball,"  Darrow  offered. 

"No,  no,"  Lamond  exclaimed,  "maybe  not;  but  we 
sow  dragon's  teeth  with  our  string  beans  to  spring  up 
armed  men.  And  that 's  the  crop  that  this  summer  will 
sow." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  John  Brown  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  If  it  is  a  question  of  swift  war,  or  organizing  lingering 
peace  and  disgrace,  give  me  war,"  and  with  these  words 
the  company  separated. 

"  Listen  to  the  storm,  Jupe ;  are  you  sure  everything  is 
closed  up  for  the  night?"  Merriford  asked,  as  he  entered 
his  own  door. 

"Close  as  I  could  make.  Hit's  an  awful  night,"  Jupe 
answered. 

"Yes,  I  pity  the  settlers  in  the  cold  little,  unchinked 
cabins  out  on  the  prairies  to-night.  Heavens!  What  a 
sacrifice  men  and  women  make  to  win  a  land  to  free 
dom,"  Merriford  mused. 

"  Yes,  sah.  Only  the  mens,  they  sacrifice  for  the  coun 
try,  and  the  womens  they  sacrifice  for  the  mens,  seems 
to  me,"  Jupe  philosophized. 


166  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Jupe,  I  'd  feel  bad  even  to  have  a  grave  of  one  I  loved 
under  this  beating  storm.  Poor  Mrs.  Barber ! " 

Jupe's  face  was  pitiful  to  see  as  he  turned  his  pleading 
eyes  on  his  employer. 

"  Lord  A'mighty  keep  you  from  ever  havin*  —  or  ever 
knowin',"  he  added  under  his  breath,  and  with  a  deep 
sigh  he  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE   STORM 

I  have  read  in  the  marvelous  heart  of  man, 

That  strange  and  mystic  scroll, 
That  an  army  of  phantoms  vast  and  wan 

Beleaguer  the  human  soul. 

—  Longfellow. 

THE  fury  of  the  storm  increased.  Out  in  the  open 
country  it  hammered  mercilessly  on  the  flat,  resist 
less,  grassy  plains.  It  wrenched  in  wrath  at  every  tree 
and  shrub.  It  screamed  in  anger  down  every  open  draw 
and  shaded  ravine.  It  hurled  its  violent  rage  upon  every 
human  habitation,  and  the  shelter  built  by  human  hands 
for  dumb  animals.  Many  a  stable-shack  lost  its  roof  or 
door  or  tumbled  in  a  heap  about  its  occupants.  While 
through  unchinked  walls  and  about  flimsy  doors  and 
window  casings  of  the  cabin  home  it  sent  its  swift 
sword-like  tongues  of  bitter,  penetrating  chill. 

In  the  Vinland  Valley  the  sweep  of  the  winds  was  un 
checked,  and  the  wooded  headland  stood  out  boldly  to 
meet  its  fury,  while  down  the  winding  way  of  the  old 
Santa  Fe  Trail  the  dead  leaves  swirled  in  eddies  upon 
the  floor  of  the  sheltered  nooks  under  overhanging 
shelves.  The  Hole  in  the  Rock,  with  its  partial  coating 
of  black  ice,  seemed  never  so  cruel  as  now,  with  its  thin, 
treacherous  covering  above  the  bitterly  chill  waters. 

The  Darrow  home,  although  on  the  top  of  the  swell, 
was  sheltered  about  with  cedar  trees.  Its  odd  arrange 
ment  of  rooms  and  halls  had  been  accidental  in  the  build- 

167 


168  AWALLOFMEN 

ing,  and  as  it  was  only  a  temporary  structure,  comfort 
was  considered  more  than  anything  else  in  this  winter 
time.  The  little  arms  of  hallways  furnished  storerooms 
for  wood  and  water,  and  with  curtains  and  heavy  paper 
linings  the  low-roofed  house  was  snug  and  warm. 

"  We  '11  have  a  fine  home  here  some  day,"  H  iram  Dar- 
row  had  said,  "built  after  the  colonial  pattern,  and  we 
shall  forget  this  little  cabin  and  its  discomforts." 

"I  hope  not  entirely,"  his  wife  replied.  "We  shall 
be  happier  for  the  memory  of  it." 

"I'll  build  a  Darrarat  on  the  new  house,  too,"  Mark 
declared.  "  I  'm  bound  to  see  what 's  goin'  on." 

With  the  breaking  of  the  storm,  a  Palmyra  man,  com 
ing  in  from  Lawrence,  had  brought  the  word  of  the 
treaty  of  peace.  But  Isabel  was  a  wise  woman  and  she 
had  some  notion  of  what  lawlessness  would  follow  in  the 
wake  of  such  a  treaty.  She  had  no  fear  for  her  husband, 
for  he  walked  fearlessly  through  all  his  days.  But  she 
was  glad  her  boys  were  all  at  home  on  this  wild  night. 

"  Mother,  I  'm  going  to  see  how  the  Lamonds  are  to 
night,"  Elliot  announced  at  the  supper  table.  "I  have 
everything  shut  in,  the  hallway  back  here  is  full  of  wood, 
and  there  is  water  enough  in  the  buckets  and  tubs  to 
float  a  ship." 

"  Thoughtful  son ! "  Mark  declared.  "  Ellie  could  earn 
his  way  going  out  as  a  hired  girl,  'most  anywhere." 

"  I  would  try  to  stand  on  my  feet  and  not  on  my  head 
when  I  was  helping  the  women  folks,"  Elliot  answered, 
with  a  glance  at  Mark's  bandaged  foot. 

"Yes,  and  not  come  downstairs  on  my  shoulders, 
neither,"  Joe  chirped  up,  feebly. 

"There  you  go,  all  of  you,  beating  up  a  battered  old 
veteran  of  the  War  of  1812,  when  he  can't  help  hisself. 
May  you  live  to  repent  it,  gentlemen.  May  you  live  to 


THE    STORM  169 

repent  it !  Oh,  my ! "  and  Mark  sighed  in  mock  resigna 
tion  of  spirit. 

Isabel  Darrow  only  smiled  at  all  this.  The  boys  had 
teased  one  another  from  babyhood,  and  their  sense  of 
humor  lightened  the  harsh  way  of  frontier  living.  But  as 
the  wind  roared  angrily  among  the  cedars  outside,  she 
said: 

"It  seems  dreadfully  rough  out.  I  wish  thee  might 
stay  here.  But  still  the  Lamonds  might  need  thee." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Lamond  needs  him  bad.  It's  not  so  im 
portant  about  Beth,  but  Elliot  can't  let  the  elders  suffer. 
Count  on  him." 

"  No,  no,"  Joe  said,  demurely.  "  Elliot  would  wade 
any  snowdrift  for  Mrs.  Lamond." 

"  Seems  to  me  it 's  the  Revolutionary  War  veteran  get 
ting  it  now,"  Elliot  said,  with  a  smile.  "  Look  out, 
Josephus.  It 's  the  Mexican  War  soldier's  turn  next." 

"Going  to  walk  or  ride?"  Mark  inquired  as  Elliot 
started  toward  the  door. 

"  Ride,  my  boy,  ride.  I  '11  slip  the  white  palfrey  into 
Lamonds'  stable  while  I  am  there.  I  would  never  leave 
a  horse  out  in  the  shelter  of  a  lariat  pin  on  a  night  like 
this,  but  neither  do  I  consider  a  horse  better  than  myself, 
to  stand  in  a  warm  stable  while  I  walk  against  the  wind. 
You  need  to  learn  balance,  Marcus." 

"  Say,  Ellie,  come  here,"  and  Mark  motioned  to  him  to 
stoop  down.  Then  in  a  low  tone  he  said :  "  Could  you 
possibly  go  to  Penwin's,  too?  Tarley  was  here  yester 
day  and  told  Joe  that  Old  Bonny  —  excuse  me,  I  mean 
Colonel  Penwin  —  had  sent  for  Craig  to  go  up  to  Law 
rence  or  the  Wakarusa  or  somewhere,  and  they  won't 
be  back  for  three  days.  Now  it's  Saturday  night,  and 
I  'm  afraid  they  might  need  something." 

"  Good  boy,"  Elliot  said,  looking  down  on  Mark  with 


170  A    WALL     OF     MEN 

kindly  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  '11  go.  I  expect  Tarleton  needs  me 
bad,"  and  Elliot  dodged  out  of  the  door  just  in  time  to 
miss  Mark's  improvised  crutch. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  heard  his  clear  voice  singing 
some  sweet  old  song  as  he  went  bravely  forth  against  the 
storm. 

Isabel  pressed  her  face  against  the  window  pane  just 
in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  white  horse  and  the 
young  rider  with  his  white  face  outlined  by  dark  hair. 
Then  the  black  night  swallowed  them  and  the  wind 
whirled  the  sleet  at  her  from  beyond  the  window.  A 
sense  of  dread  and  loneliness  seized  her,  and  she  longed 
to  rush  after  her  boy.  Then  in  the  silence  of  her  soul 
she  lifted  her  hands  to  Him  in  whom  she  trusted. 

"A  thousand  shall  fall  at  his  side  and  ten  thousand  at 
his  right  hand,  but  it  shall  not  come  nigh  him,"  she 
murmured. 

Out  in  the  night  Elliot  went  singing  on  his  way.  The 
young  form  had  grown  sturdier  each  day  since  his  com 
ing  to  Kansas,  and  the  vigor  of  a  man  nerved  his  arm  to 
strength. 

"  I  '11  go  to  Penwins'  first,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It 's 
a  fight  against  the  wind  coming  back,  but" — he  smiled 
in  the  dark — "there's  something  to  come  back  for, 
maybe,"  and  he  galloped  merrily  with  the  wind  toward 
the  South. 

"  Oh,  Elliot  Darrow,"  Lucy  cried  when  she  saw  who 
stood  at  the  door.  "I  thought  I  heard  papa  coming 
home.  It  must  have  been  you  I  heard.  It 's  so  good  of 
you  to  come." 

And  Elliot  with  neighborly  courtesy  did  sundry  little 
undone  chores  for  the  household.  Then  he  tightened  up  the 
windows  and  barred  out  the  storm  before  taking  leave. 
As  he  stood  in  the  light  of  the  open  door,  where  Lucy 


THE    STORM  171 

wouM  persist  in  coming  to  thank  him  in  her  girlish 
enthusiasm,  one  might  travel  far  before  finding  a  young 
man  upon  whom  Nature  had  smiled  more  graciously. 

"  Stay  all  night,"  Lucy  urged.  "  It 's  too  bad  to  try  to 
go  north  against  this  wind." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  afraid  of  it,"  Elliot  declared. 

"Elliot  isn't  afraid  of  anything,  are  you?"  Tarleton 
said. 

"  Well,  not  of  the  wind,  at  least,"  he  answered,  smiling 
genially,  as  he  closed  the  door,  shutting  them  inside. 

Then  he  mounted  his  horse  and  was  off  again.  The 
darkness  concealed  him  the  moment  the  door  was  closed. 
That  was  why  a  horseman  coming  in  from  the  north 
west  saw  only  the  young  man  in  the  light  of  the  doorway, 
and,  following  stealthily  at  a  distance,  did  not  know  that 
Elliot  was  on  horseback  and  had  gained  space  ahead 
beyond  his  reckoning.  And  Elliot  forged  onward,  uncon 
scious  that  any  other  human  being  was  abroad  on  the 
prairies  in  this  fierce  storm.  In  the  shadow  of  the  wood, 
where  the  night  was  very  black,  a  man  slipped  from  out 
of  the  blank  depths  and  fell  into  the  Trail  behind  him. 
Steadily  as  he  urged  his  horse  against  the  wind  the  silent 
footman  followed.  They  had  almost  reached  the  edge  of 
the  wood  on  the  height  overlooking  the  Vinland  Valley 
when  Elliot,  whose  keen  eyes  saw  far  into  the  darkness, 
caught  the  landmark  of  the  by-trail  leading  out  of  the 
wood  toward  Lamond's  claim,  and  deftly  wheeling  his 
horse  aside  he  galloped  off  toward  the  sheltered  nook 
hidden  from  the  main  highway. 

The  lone  footman,  unconscious  for  the  time  that  the 
horseman  had  left  the  Trail,  pressed  on  his  way,  coming 
to  the  open  space  at  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  Behind  him 
a  man  on  horseback  was  hurrying  cautiously  along. 
Away  down  in  the  open  the  young  Quaker  was  bending 


172  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

to  the  sharp  north  breeze,  with  ears  muffled  against  the 
stinging  cold  and  sleet.  The  wind  lulled  to  rest  a  mo 
ment,  the  storm  cloud  broke  in  two,  and  in  the  dim  light 
the  Vinland  Valley  lay  bleak  and  bare.  An  angry  storm 
lash  struck  the  earth  again,  and  the  cloud  fused  together, 
but  in  the  moment  between,  Elliot  caught  a  faint  sound 
like  a  pistol  shot  behind  him,  too  faint  to  remember  in 
the  roar  of  the  wind  following  it.  And  in  a  few  minutes 
more  he  had  reached  the  stone  cabin  in  the  deep  valley. 

Beth  had  on  the  same  red  dress  she  had  worn  on  the 
rainy  night  in  October  when  Craig  Pen  win  had  found 
her  alone  and  lonely.  With  all  the  raging  madness  out 
side,  and  with  this  cosy  hearthstone  with  a  comely 
matron  and  fair-faced  girl  beside  it,  what  wonder  that  to 
Elliot  Darrow  it  should  seem  the  crown  of  life's  good 
things. 

"Talk  about  heaven  when  you  can  get  into  a  place 
like  this,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  settled  into  David  La- 
mond's  chair  by  the  fire.  "  I  've  been  clear  to  Penwins' 
since  I  left  home.  The  wind  is  a  fright  coming  north." 

"  To  Penwins' ! "  Beth  said,  wonderingly.  "  What  took 
you  there?" 

"  Oh,  they  are  left  without  any  men  to  help  them,  like 
most  of  the  settlers'  homes  to-night.  Only" — Elliot's 
voice  had  something  stern  in  it  —  "they  aren't  out  to 
save  the  country.  They  don't  serve  at  that.  The  Colonel 
is  upon  the  Wakarusa  and  he's  sent  for  Craig.  That's 
why " 

"Why  you  are  playing  the  guardian  angel  to  all  this 
deserted  village."  There  was  a  little  harsh  ring  to  Beth's 
voice. 

"Oh,  Elizabeth  Lamond,"  her  mother  exclaimed.  "  I  'm 
always  glad  to  see  Elliot.  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  face 
this  storm  just  to  see  if  we  were  safe.  I  've  been  awake 


THE    STORM  173 

for  two  nights  with  Nethercotes'  sick  baby.  I  'm  going 
to  bed  now.  I  can  sleep  with  comfort." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Lamond,"  Elliot  said.  "I  came 
especially  on  your  account.  I  hope  you  will  rest  well. 
Good  night." 

When  her  mother  was  gone  Elliot  sat  looking  into  the 
fire  until  Beth  said: 

"I  am  as  grateful  as  mother  is  to  you.  But  I  don't 
want  you  to  misjudge  Craig.  You  know  what  he  did 
for  me." 

"  Yes,  I  know.    I  'm  glad  he  did  it." 

"Well,  why  do  you  say  he's  upon  the  Wakarusa?" 

"I  didn't  say  he  was  there.  I  said  he  was  sent  for. 
I  don't  know  where  he  is.  He's  not  at  home;  I  know 
that." 

"  I  know  where  he  is,"  Beth  said,  spiritedly.  "  He 's  in 
Lawrence.  Father  sent  a  letter  down  by  a  Palmyra  man 
this  afternoon.  You  'd  never  guess  what  he  said." 

"Probably  not.  I'm  not  real  swift  at  those  things," 
Elliot  said. 

Something  seemed  to  set  things  wrong  to-night,  but 
neither  one  had  the  clue  to  the  cause  as  yet,  because 
they  were  young  and  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  study 
motives  that  lie  back  of  speech. 

"  I  've  a  notion  not  to  tell  you  what  papa  said,"  Beth 
said,  pettishly. 

"It  probably  doesn't  concern  me  anyhow,"  Elliot  re 
torted. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  does.  No,  it  does  n't,  either,"  and  Beth's 
cheeks  grew  pink. 

"  Then  I  '11  have  to  know,"  Elliot  said,  firmly.  "  What 
ever  does  and  does  not  concern  me  in  the  same  sentence 
is  worth  knowing." 

"  It  is  n't  about  you  at  all,"  Beth  said  daringly.    "  He 


174  A    WALL    OF     MEN 

says  I  'm  never  to  forget  Craig's  kindness."  Elliot  looked 
steadily  into  the  fire.  "  And  he  says  there 's  to  be  a  peace 
party  Monday  night,  and  I  am  to  go  up  to  Lawrence  and 
be  one  of  the  guests.  Everybody  will  bury  the  hatchet. 
Just  think,  Governor  Shannon  and  Sheriff  Jones  will  be 
there " 

"And  the  man  who  killed  Barber? "  Elliot  asked,  with 
out  looking  up. 

"  Oh,  Elliot  Darrow,  you  are  awful." 

"No,"  answered  Elliot,  "that  man  was  awful.  What 
else?" 

"Father  said  Craig  Penwin  would  be  there,  and  he 
wants  me  to  go  up  to  the  party  too,  maybe.  Anyhow, 
the  letter  said  Craig  and  I  could  represent  the  peace  con 
ditions  between  the  two  forces.  We  are  good  types,  for 
if  I  were  a  man  I'd  have  been  up  on  Mount  Oread 
doing  sentinel  duty  for  Lawrence,  and  Craig  is  a  regular 
Southerner,  only  he  is  manly  and  just." 

"As  many  of  them  are,  I  have  no  doubt,"  Elliot  said. 
"  We  have  the  wrong  streak  of  them  sent  in  here,  is  all. 
What  else?" 

"  Father  says  Craig  will  think  I  owe  it  to  him  to  recog 
nize  his  courage.  What  do  you  think?" 

"  I  think,"  Elliot  answered,  "  that  if  I  had  saved  a  girl 
from  insult  I  would  feel  like  I  had  only  done  my  duty, 
and  that  she  owed  me  nothing.  To  be  honest  about  it, 
Beth,  I  don't  believe  Craig  would  expect  any  more  than 
that,  either.  What  else  did  your  father  say?" 

"  It  seems,"  Beth's  voice  was  not  quite  steady,  "  that  I 
am  to  go  to  this  peace  party  with  Craig  anyhow." 

"  Does  that  concern  me  ? "  Elliot  asked,  still  with  his 
gaze  on  the  coals. 

Beth  did  not  reply. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her.    She  returned  his 


THE    STORM  175 

gaze  steadily.     Her  deep  gray  eyes  were  unfathomable 
at  this  moment.    At  last  she  said: 
"Will  you  go  to  this  party?" 

"I  think  I  will,"  he  answered.  "I'm  fond  of  peace. 
We  Quakers  all  are." 

"  Oh,  Elliot !  "  and  Beth  leaned  forward  with  her  hand 
shading  her  eyes. 

"I  must  be  going  now.  I  think  I  ought  to  see  if 
Patty  Wren  is  all  right.  Think  of  that  gritty  little  bird 
staying  all  alone  in  her  cabin."  Elliot  rose  to  go. 

"I'm  not  sure  she  is  at  home  yet,  Elliot,  and  it  is  a 
long,  cold  ride  if  she  should  not  be  there;  but  if  she  is, 
it  will  be  good  of  you  to  look  after  her." 

"  Yes,  I  'm  a  useful  sort  of  a  watchdog,"  he  said,  gaily, 
reaching  for  his  cap.  "I  gave  up  my  job  on  Mount 
Oread  to  look  after  the  women  and  children  down  here. 
Kind  of  a  squaw-man." 

Beth  was  standing  beside  him  now,  watching  him  but 
ton  his  coat  up  tightly. 

"Elliot,  you  are  not  like  the  boy  who  went  nutting 
with  me  last  October,"  she  said,  gently. 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  the  look  a  true-hearted 
man,  in  all  the  years  of  his  life,  gives  to  only  one  woman. 
But  Beth  was  not  looking  at  him  just  then. 

"  I  told  you,  Beth,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  but  gentle  tone, 
"that  I  should  change  more,  maybe,  than  any  of  the 
others  after  that  day  —  that  night,"  tenderly  he  pro 
nounced  the  last  two  words.  "I  am  not  a  rude  fellow 
at  heart,  Beth.  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you  I  had  no  right 
to  do  what  I  did." 

Her  head  had  dropped  low  and  her  hands  were  clutch 
ing  the  back  of  the  chair  by  which  she  stood.  The  warm 
red  gown,  fitting  up  to  the  white  throat,  the  soft  folds  of 
her  golden  hair,  and  the  pretty  pink  bloom  of  her  fair 


176  AWALLOFMEN 

cheeks,  with  the  innate  beauty  of  her  sweet-souled  young 
womanhood,  made  her  marvelously  dear  and  beautiful  to 
the  young  man  beside  her. 

"  Beth,"  he  rested  one  hand  softly  on  her  shoulder,  and 
with  the  other  he  gently  lifted  her  face  till  her  eyes  met 
his.  "I  had  no  right  to  kiss  you.  Forgive  me,  won't 
you?" 

"You  had  no  right  to  tell  Craig  you  did,"  Beth  an 
swered  quickly. 

"I  didn't,"  Elliot  spoke  as  quickly. 

"  He  said  you  did." 

"  He  lied."  Elliot's  cheeks  flushed  and  his  eyes  blazed. 
Beth  had  never  seen  him  look  as  he  did  now,  and  her 
admiration  startled  her. 

"Elliot,  let's  forget  it  all.  Wipe  it  out  and  begin 
again,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  You  are  good  to  say  it,  Beth.  May  I  say  just  one 
thing?" 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  and  the  hand  on  her  shoulder 
trembled  a  little. 

"Your  father  is  grateful  to  Craig  for  what  he  did  for 
you  and  Patty.  So  am  I.  But  Mr.  Lamond  thinks  I  am 
a  coward.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  a  coward  or  not, 
but  I  hope  always  to  have  the  courage  to  do  the  thing  I 
think  is  right,  even  in  the  face  of  ridicule.  That's  my 
idea  of  courage." 

The  fair  face  with  the  luminous  gray  eyes  and  sunny 
ripples  of  hair,  young  and  winsomely  charming,  wore  now 
a  grace  Elliot  had  never  seen  in  it  before,  —  the  grace  of 
earnest  womanhood.  With  a  gentle  touch  he  smoothed 
the  fair  hair  from  her  forehead.  She  looked  up  at  him 
and  neither  spoke  a  word.  If  David  Lamond,  who  loved 
his  daughter  supremely,  could  have  seen  her  to-night 
with  the  broad-shouldered  young  man  standing  be- 


THE    STORM  177 

side  her,  if  he  could  have  seen  the  dark  eyes 
of  Elliot  Darrow  looking  with  reverence  and  ten 
derness  upon  her,  if  he  could  have  noted  the  strength 
of  character  that  lay  in  promise  in  every  line  of  that 
handsome  young  face,  and  if  he  could  have  heard  the 
magnetic  voice  saying:  "I  do  not  know  yet  whether 
I  am  a  coward  or  not.  I  hope  always  to  have  the 
courage  to  do  the  thing  I  think  is  right,  even  in  the 
face  of  ridicule  " —  if  all  this  could  have  been,  there  would 
have  been  a  different  story  to  tell  in  the  pages  that  fol 
low. 

The  firelight  shown  with  a  roseate  glow  making  even 
the  shadows  seem  cosy  and  warm.  And  in  the  heart  of 
the  rich  light,  Beth,  in  her  dark  crimson  dress,  with  her 
youth  and  health  and  beauty,  and  beside  her,  Elliot, 
strong,  capable,  fearless.  What  were  simple  stone  cabin 
home  and  hardy  frontier  life  to  this  young  Scotch  lassie, 
with  the  sweetness  and  strength  of  her  womanhood  that 
marks  the  rank  of  peerage  in  this  prairie  kingdom !  And 
what  were  storm  and  danger  to  this  young  State  builder 
with  the  power  to  make  empires  in  his  strong  right  arm ! 
If  David  Lamond  could  have  only  seen!  But  he  was  in 
Lawrence  now. 

A  moment  the  two  stood  silently  together.  Elliot's 
right  hand  on  Beth's  shoulder,  his  left  hand  pushing  back 
the  yellow  ripples  from  her  white  forehead.  Then  the 
warm  snug  room  gave  place  to  the  darkness  and  the 
storm,  and  the  young  Quaker  was  away. 

Patty  Wren  was  safe  and  warm  as  a  cocoon  in  its 
silken  web,  so  Elliot  faced  eastward  for  the  home  run. 
As  he  came  to  the  Trail  crossing  in  the  ravine  by  the ' 
Hole  in  the  Rock  he  remembered  how  Cotton  Mather 
had  treated  Coke  Wren. 

"  I  don't  care  to  get  thrown  out  here  to-night  to  freeze 


178  AWALLOFMEN 

to  death,"  he  said,  as  he  held  the  white  horse  down  to  a 
gentle  gait. 

He  did  not  note  how  noiselessly  he  went  along  until 
he  had  reached  the  still,  cold,  black  pool.  The  storm 
cloud  broke  here  once  more  and  a  weird  light  poured 
through  the  leafless  boughs  into  the  ravine.  It  fell 
upon  Elliot's  dark  form  mounted  on  the  quiet  white 
horse.  His  white  face  and  dark  eyes  were  cameo  clear 
against  the  black  shade  beyond,  as  horse  and  man  moved 
silently  as  a  spectre  down  the  Trail.  The  horse's  feet 
struck  the  ice  of  the  ford.  A  startled  cry  rising  to  a 
shriek  chilled  the  blood  in  his  veins,  and  he  clutched  his 
bridle  rein  involuntarily.  Had  David  Lamond  seen  him 
here  at  that  moment  there  would  never  have  been  further 
question  with  him  as  to  the  young  Quaker's  courage. 

Elliot  uttered  no  sound,  but  with  a  quick  mastery  of 
himself,  he  turned  to  gaze  after  a  horseman  flying  from 
him  as  from  the  face  of  doom. 

"  Does  Boniface  Penwin  take  me  for  the  figure  of 
Death  riding  on  a  pale  steed  this  stormy  night?"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "What  else  could  make  him  ride 
from  me  like  a  mad  man?  I  wonder  if  he  will  go  to  the 
peace  party,  too.  He  needs  it." 

As  he  hurried  up  the  Trail  winding  along  under  the 
shelving  rock  of  the  wooded  bluff  he  heard  a  faint  groan. 
He  stopped  to  listen.  The  wind  was  not  so  fierce  here, 
and  the  way  was  warmer  in  these  shut-in  places.  Also  it 
was  black,  impenetrably  black. 

"Here's  where  horse  sense  comes  in,"  the  young  man 
said,  as  he  gave  his  own  steed  free  rein  to  pick  its  way. 

Another  groan,  louder  this  time,  and  another.  Then  a 
faint  "Help!  help!"  It  came  from  the  roadside  under 
the  overhanging  rock. 

"What's  the  trouble?"   Elliot  called.     He  was  not 


THESTORM  179 

cowardly  here,  where  there  was  ample  cause  to  fear. 
"Can  I  help  you?"  he  called  again. 

"You,  Darrow?"  came  the  query. 

"Yes.    Who  are  you?" 

"White  Turkey.  Come."  Feebly  the  words  were 
spoken. 

Elliot  was  groping  beside  him  in  a  moment. 

"You  are  hurt.  What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  the 
Indian. 

"I'm  shot.  Somebody  behind  me  up  there  on  the 
bluff.  I  fm  cold." 

Elliot  helped  the  Indian  to  rise,  but  he  could  not  stand 
alone. 

"I'll  set  you  on  the  horse  and  take  you  home  with 
me,"  he  said.  "  We  '11  see  what  we  can  do  for  you.  How 
did  you  happen  to  be  away  down  here  this  stormy 
night?" 

"  To  save  a  life,"  White  Turkey  replied,  and  fell  limp 
and  half  conscious  against  the  horse's  saddle. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  PEACE  PARTY 

And  bright  the  lamps  shone  o'er 
Fair  women  and  brave  men. 

—  Byron. 

MORE  than  one  home  was  in  disorder  on  the  night 
of  the  "  peace  party  "  in  Lawrence.  Homes  were 
small  in  this  early  time  on  the  frontier,  and  space  was  at 
a  premium.  Party  dresses  were  in  the  bottom  trunks 
under  stacked-up  possessions.  Pretty  headgear  and 
other  appurtenances  of  adornment  were  in  the  top  band 
boxes  on  the  top  of  the  heap  above  cupboards  and  on 
overhead  shelves.  These  receptacles,  brought  out  and 
left  open  for  the  brief  time,  littered  the  rooms. 

"Law,  law,  Mis'  Merriford,"  Jupe  said,  as  he  came 
grinning  into  the  house.  "  I  'se  done  been  totin'  baskets 
an'  baskets  of  good  things  to  the  Eldridge  House, —  pie, 
an'  poun'  cake,  an'  fruit  tarts,  'til  my  eyes  even  ain't  got 
no  appetite  no  more.  Everybody's  gwine  to  be  at  that 
party  to-night,  an'  they  shore  do  calculate  to  eat  a  lot." 

"  Yes,  we  '11  do  the  subject  justice  in  peace  as  in  war. 
There  will  be  well-dressed  people,  too,  beside  being  well- 
fed,"  Mrs.  Merriford  said. 

"Well-dressed!"  Jupe  exclaimed.  "Lord  A'mighty, 
won't  they  now?  I  never  knowed  before  that  they  was 
such  finery  in  these  here  little  houses.  I  see  more  boxes 
layin'  open  that  had  been  hauled  out  from  under  beds, 
an'  I  see  more  fine  dresses  layin'  round  on  chairs  an'  hats 

180 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  181 

on  the  bureau  or  the  parlor  stove,  an*  I  see  finery  hanging 
on  the  towel  rack  in  the  kitchen." 

"Well,  you  see,  Jupe,"  Mrs.  Merriford  said,  laughing, 
"We  are  so  crowded  here.  Plenty  of  land  but  house- 
room  limited;  we  have  to  stow  things  in  funny  places." 

"  Now,  jest  don't  you?  "  Jupe  replied.  "  One  lady  kep' 
her  lace  shawl  an'  her  beads  an'  a  lot  of  finery  in  a  big 
stone  jar  under  the  kitchen  table,  an'  another  had  her 
velvet  hat  and  her  husband's  velvet  vest  in  the  tin  cup 
board.  Said  they  hadn't  nothin'  much  to  eat  anyhow. 
Et  what  they  got  before  it  had  time  to  be  put  in  the  tin 
safe ;  said  they  done  forgot  how  cold  vittle  tasted  'cause 
what  they  got  they  et  up  hot.  Oh,  golly !  golly ! "  and 
Jupe  giggled  joyously. 

"She's  told  the  truth,  I  dare  say,  Jupe.  Now  go  in 
the  bedroom  and  get  that  tall  bandbox  off  the  shelf  over 
Mr.  Merriford's  bed.  Open  it  and  bring  me  my  white 
gloves  and  the  lace  collars  for  Annie  and  Nellie,  and  Mr. 
Merriford's  silk  hat.  We  also  economize  on  space." 

Jupe  went  away,  grinning.  When  he  reappeared,  his 
face  had  lost  its  glow,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  a  strange 
light. 

"  Mis'  Merriford,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  whose  pic 
ture  was  that  in  there  ?  " 

"Where?  Oh,  in  the  box?  A  woman  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms?  That  was  Mr.  Merriford's  first  wife,  Neil's 
mother.  He  had  it  taken  with  Neil  just  the  day  before 
she  died.  You  see,  Neil  was  only  a  tiny  baby  then.  He 
looks  like  his  mother ;  don't  you  think  he  does  ?  " 

The  Negro  stared  at  her  but  said  nothing.  Mrs.  Mer 
riford  could  not  understand  his  strange  mood. 

"  Did  you  think  it  was  one  of  those  pictures  taken  after 
death?  Neil's  mother  was  ill,  but  she  was  happy  that 
day;  she  thought  she  was  going  to  get  well.  Do  you 


182  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

know,  Jupe,"  thinking  to  change  the  subject,  "do  you 
know,  I  think  that  young  Mr.  Darrow  looks  like  our  Neil, 
only  younger,  of  course.  Not  a  close  resemblance,  but 
at  a  distance  they  might  be  mistaken  for  each  other.  Do 
you  know  this  young  man  when  you  see  him?" 

"Lord,  Lord,  no,"  Jupe  answered  in  a  low  tone,  and 
under  his  breath  he  added,  "  I  hopes  I  never  will.  I 
hopes  I  never  will." 

But,  however  crowded  for  room  the  houses  might  be, 
with  the  shortage  of  cedar  chests  and  ample  closets  and 
spacious  bureaus,  and  chiffoniers,  the  toilets  of  the  guests 
at  the  peace  party  gave  little  token  of  a  frontier  people 
outlawed  from  social  appointments  and  refinement. 

The  party  was  given  in  the  partially  completed 
Eldridge  House,  and  no  pains  were  spared  in  producing 
a  real  social  function  with  every  courtesy  and  token  of 
good  will  and  peace.  Something,  too,  there  was  of  glad 
reaction  from  the  tension  of  the  last  three  weeks,  when 
anger  and  suffering  and  threatening  peril  possessed  the 
land.  The  leading  men  of  Lawrence  were  the  hosts,  and 
everybody  of  importance  became  guests.  Pro-Slavery 
and  Free-State  men,  rich  and  poor,  cultured  and  com 
monplace,  old  and  young,  —  there  were  no  lines  drawn. 

Jupe  afterwards  declared,  "The  only  thing  that  kept 
the  affair  from  bein'  real  hash  was  that  they  mixed 
in  everything  but  the  Indians  and  the  darkeys.  And 
yit,"  he  philosophized,  "  the  real  peaceablest  folks  on  the 
Kaw  is  them  Delawares  over  north  and  us  few  colored 
aristocrats  on  this  side,  sah." 

The  Wrens  were  on  hand  early,  for  they  were  emi 
nently  gregarious  birds.  Coke  wore  a  boiled  shirt  and 
a  stiff  little  black  and  white  bow  tie ;  while  Patty  looked 
ever  so  neat  in  her  brown  alpaca  gown  with  collar  and 
cuffs  of  tatting,  cloverleaf  pattern,  made  out  of  number 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  183 

eighty  thread  and  "hooked"  together  with  a  crochet 
hook.  Patty's  brown  hair  was  smooth  and  trim  as  a 
wren's  feathers,  and  with  her  bright  eyes  and  kind  little 
face  she  was  far  from  being  the  least  important  figure  in 
that  company.  For  inborn  kindness  and  good  will,  to 
gether  with  a  lively  interest  in  the  world  as  it  moves 
along,  and  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  make  desirable  com 
panionship  always. 

"  Heavens  to  Betsey !  Cokey,  dear,  do  look  a-comin'  ! " 
Patty  ejaculated  as  the  guests  streamed  in.  "They's 
about  eight  hundred  invited,  an'  they  must  be  eight  thou 
sand  by  this  time,  an'  more  on  the  stairs.  I  did  n't  know 
they  was  this  many  folks  in  the  world." 

She  was  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  table,  for  better  view 
ing  facilities,  and  her  eyes  fairly  sparkled  as  she  noted 
the  ingathering  crowd. 

"Are  you  uneasy  about  the  partakin's,  Patty?"  Coke 
asked.  "  Don't  worry.  I  seen  a  man  with  a  wooden 
leg.  He  won't  need  so  much  to  eat ;  an'  they 's  several 
more  or  less  wooden-headed  ones." 

"Oh,  Coke  Wren!  they's  food  enough  for  a  whole 
Valley  Forge  to  founder  on.  Beats  the  world  the  way 
these  Kansas  people  do  things.  Pile  up  a  wad  of  earth 
works  an'  stick  up  a  sign,  '  Come  over  here  an'  git  shot,' 
on  top  of  it  an'  set  down  beside  it  to  watch  one  day ;  an' 
the  next  day,  smash  down  the  earthworks,  an'  use  the 
sign  for  firewood  to  cook  an'  bake,  an'  feed  the  same 
parties  as  hereinbefore  referred  to." 

"  No,  Patty,  they  leave  the  sign  up,  but  they  add  to  it, 
'  or  behave  yourself,  an'  git  fed.'  There 's  Sheriff  Jones. 
See  him  swagger." 

"An'  ef  there  ain't  Beth  Lamond  and  Craig  Penwin. 
My  land  o'  love,  but  don't  they  look  fine?  An'  Colonel 
Boniface  Penwin  1  Ef  that  ain't  the  wolf  dwellin'  with  the 


184  AWALLOFMEN 

lamb  an'  the  leopard  with  the  kid,  I  '11  go  an'  change  the 
spots  on  the  leopard,  what  the  Good  Book  says  he  can't 
change  hisself." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  say  a  word  about  Craig, 
Patty,"  Coke  said,  reproachfully. 

"  I  ain't,  Cokey,  I  ain't.  He 's  a  fine  man,  and  I  '11  hear 
his  '  Into  the  woods,  you  devils,'  like  he  shouted  to  them 
rascals  in  the  ravine,  till  the  day  of  my  death.  It's 
Colonel  Boniface  hisself  I  'm  lookin'  at.  Fine  lookin'  as 
ever  walked  the  Lord's  footstool.  An'  how  proud  he 
looks  at  Craig.  But  'tween  us  two  Wrens,  that  man 's  a 
walking  shell  of  manhood.  The  real  man 's  been  eat  out 
somehow.  He's  a-wearin'  a  lion's  hide  over  a  craven's 
heart,  or  else  the  Good  Bein'  give  me  the  wrong  kind  of 
eyes.  They're  no  use  to  me  ef  they  don't  let  me  see 
true." 

Other  eyes  than  the  Wrens'  were  looking  at  Craig  and 
Beth  as  they  passed  down  the  room,  for  they  were  worth 
a  second  look.  There  were  mothers  with  little  children, 
and  there  were  not  a  few  young  brides  in  the  Territory, 
but  of  young  ladies  it  had  not  yet  a  plethora.  Moreover, 
it  was  Beth's  first  real  party,  and  the  debutante  is  always 
interesting.  But  mostly  and  supremely  was  Beth  in  her 
self  delightful  that  night.  The  excitement  of  the  hour 
set  the  pink  bloom  on  her  cheeks  and  drew  the  sharp 
line  between  that  and  the  white  of  her  brow  and  throat. 
Her  dress  was  of  soft  silk  of  the  Lamond  plaid  colors, 
gray,  green  and  deep  blue,  with  the  silver  thread  check 
ing  it,  but  all  toned  down  to  harmony  and  wonderfully 
becoming  to  her  blond  beauty.  In  her  hair  and  at  her 
throat  little  pink  velvet  bows  nestled.  Her  sleeves 
reached  just  below  her  elbows,  and  a  fall  of  lace  revealed 
her  plump  arms.  She  wore  no  jewelry,  except  a  string 
of  pink  coral  beads. 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  185 

Craig  held  his  head  high,  with  the  air  of  a  young  man 
who  had  secured  the  best  of  what  life  was  to  offer. 

In  the  whole  company,  the  most  distinguished  looking 
man  was  the  Southern  gentleman,  Boniface  Penwin. 
Genial,  well-bred,  and  well-dressed,  he  made  the  com 
pany  forget  its  prejudice  against  him  in  spite  of  itself. 

"  That 's  David  Lamond's  girl,  Emily,"  Winthrop  Mer- 
riford  said  to  his  wife.  "  She 's  a  beauty.  Looks  like  her 
sturdy  father,  too.  He's  a  man  of  a  thousand,  with  all 
the  good  traits  of  the  loyal  Scotch  people.  Unprejudiced, 
too,  or  his  daughter  would  n't  be  here  with  Colonel  Pen- 
win's  son.  Lamond  is  square  and  true." 

"Since  he  rescued  Miss  Lamond  with  Patty  from  the 
ruffians,  I  should  think  she  owed  him  something,"  Mrs. 
Merriford  said. 

"Yes,  something."  Lawyer  Merriford  was  a  shrewd 
man.  "  But  if  it 's  going  to  grow  as  an  obligation  along 
certain  Knes,  Lamond  will  better  think  twice  about  it, 
before  he  lays  too  much  on  the  girl's  conscience  in  that 
respect." 

"Well,  they  seem  satisfied,  so  we  need  not  be  dis 
turbed,"  Mrs.  Merriford  offered. 

"  Don't  you  know  it 's  a  lawyer's  business  to  be  dis 
turbed?"  her  husband  asked,  jokingly.  "And  if  it  is 
going  to  tangle  things  up  and  make  family  tragedies 
when  the  fighting  begins  again,  it  would  be  best  to  be 
disturbed  now." 

"Will  there  be  fighting  again?  I  thought  this  was  to 
be  the  peace-offering  to-night."  Mrs.  Merriford  spoke 
seriously. 

"Of  course  there  will,  Emily.  There's  nothing  set 
tled.  Nothing  safe.  This  is  only  a  truce.  We  get  our 
selves  into  better  trim  and  we  can  fight  the  weather  for 
our  families  this  winter.  The  spring  will  thaw  the  snake 


186  AWALLOFMEN 

we  've  scotched,  not  killed.  '  She  '11  close  and  be  herself 
again/  as  Shakespeare  says." 

The  commotion  of  getting  seated  and  ready  for  the 
speech-making  followed. 

"  Right  this  way,  Darrow.  Plenty  of  seats  here,"  John 
Speer  called  as  a  crowd  of  newcomers  entered  the  door. 
"  Right  down  here.  We  are  waiting  for  you,"  he  added, 
jovially. 

The  crowd  turned  to  see  Elliot  Darrow  and  a  petite 
stylish  girl  who  must  needs  take  Speer's  proffered  cour 
tesy. 

There  are  those  who  make  their  presence  felt  as  soon 
as  they  enter  a  room,  although  no  word  may  be  said. 
Elliot  Darrow  walked  easily  down  the  long  room,  not 
with  the  manner  of  the  polished  gentleman,  but  with  the 
innate  simplicity  and  the  attractiveness  of  the  man  who 
is  not  thinking  of  himself.  Beside  him  was  a  young  lady, 
well-dressed  and,  for  her  type,  handsome.  She  was  short 
and  slender  with  an  abundance  of  black  hair  and  large 
dark  eyes.  Her  eyelashes  were  long,  and  with  her  heavy 
brows  made  her  face  a  striking  one.  She  wore  a  dress 
of  some  light  blue  wool,  braided  daintily  with  black 
silken  cord,  and  in  her  raven  hair  was  a  bunch  of  blue 
velvet  forget-me-nots. 

The  crowd  had  settled  just  enough  for  the  two  to 
attract  its  gaze,  if  indeed  they  would  not  have  done  so 
anyhow.  And  as  they  were  shown  to  a  place  of  promi 
nence,  a  murmur  of  interested  comment  ran  through  the 
company. 

"  I  want  to  know.  Ain't  the  boy  good  looking! "  Coke 
Wren  exclaimed,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  Beth  and 
Craig,  who  sat  just  in  front  of  them.  "  Ain't  we  proud 
of  our  part  of  the  company,  Beth?"  Coke  whispered, 
leaning  forward,  regardless  of  Patty's  poke  in  his  side. 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  187 

The  two  in  front  turned  at  Wren's  words,  and  Beth 
smiled  cordially,  but  Craig's  thin  lips  were  set. 

"Who  is  she,  Coke?"  Merriford  asked,  leaning  back 
to  whisper  behind  his  wife  and  Patty. 

"  I  don't  know.  Ask  Mis'  Merriford,"  Coke  whispered 
back. 

"  Coke  Wren,  you  ain't  got  a  grain  of  sense,"  Patty 
said  in  her  husband's  ear. 

"  Don't  need  any  in  the  family  I  live  with,"  Coke 
answered,  as  he  chucked  Patty's  chin  playfully. 

"Who  is  she,  Emily?"  Merriford's  shrill  whisper 
reached  also  to  the  ears  of  the  young  people  in  front  of 
them.  When  a  man  does  whisper  he  never  makes  a 
bungle  of  it. 

"  You  men  are  the  biggest  gossips  I  ever  saw,"  Mrs. 
Merriford  returned.  "  If  you  are  n't  lined  up  against  the 
Pro-Slavery  people,  you  line  up  to  discuss  what  belongs 
strictly  to  Patty  and  me  to  consider.  Tha^  's  Doctor  St. 
Felix's  daughter.  They've  just  come  to  the  Eldridge 
House.  He  does  n't  say  a  word  about  his  beliefs,  but  he 
didn't  join  your  garrison  forces.  The  young  men  were 
the  first  to  know  her.  Girls  are  at  a  premium  here,  as 
well  as  down  toward  Palmyra,  Coke,  and  the  young  fel 
lows  who  were  up  here  these  three  weeks  soon  found  all 
there  are  here.  Her  name  is  Rosalind.  Pretty  name, 
isn't  it?  That's  all  I  know."  Then  in  a  lower  tone, 
Mrs.  Merriford  added,  "  Mr.  Darrow  does  remind  me  of 
Neil." 

"  Rosalind  St.  Felix ! "  Coke  repeated.  "  What  novel  do 
you  reckon  her  mother  was  readin'  when  she  was  born? 
How'd  Elliot  get  to  know  her  so  quick,  do  you  s'pose? 
He  knows  a  good  thing  at  sight,  I  reckon." 

"  Oh,  he  went  to  her  pa  for  medicine  for  Joey,  'cause 
Doc  Robinson  was  doin'  better  work  carin'  for  all  of  us 


188  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

then.  That's  how,"  Patty  whispered.  "Now,  do  shut 
up.  The  speakin's  beginnin'." 

On  the  surface  the  party  was  as  successful  as  it  was 
entertaining.  The  speeches  were  full  of  fire  concerning 
the  justice  of  the  settlers'  cause,  and  the  injustice  of  the 
invasion,  with  many  compliments  for  the  heroes  who  had 
brought  the  cannon  safely  through  the  enemy's  country, 
and  to  the  heroic  women,  Margaret  Wood  and  Lois 
Brown,  who  had  dared  to  go  for  ammunition  in  the 
town's  dire  need  of  defence.  There  was  much  good- 
natured  joking  and  pleasantry  at  everybody's  expense 
to  soften  down  the  bitterness  of  conflict  and  every  show 
of  courtesy  to  prove  the  timber  of  these  earnest  citizens, 
who  could  fight  but  would  not  run. 

But  underneath  the  surface,  hearts  were  sore  and  spir 
its  bitter.  The  murder  of  young  Barber  only  a  few  days 
ago,  who  in  this  very  room  had  lain  with  the  patient 
serenity  of  the  dead;  the  indignity  of  a  useless  hardship 
and  terror;  and  the  sense  that  even  the  influence  of  this 
peace-party  would  reach  little  further  than  the  hours  it 
filled  —  all  kept  an  undercurrent  of  turmoil  of  soul  unlike 
the  smooth  face  of  affairs  —  impressing  the  truth  that 
the  truce  was  but  temporary. 

Two  leading  men  were  not  present  here.  John  Brown, 
who  believed  that  only  by  war  could  justice  be  secured, 
and  Hiram  Darrow,  who  held  that  there  is  no  real  power 
save  the  power  of  peace.  And  both  had  truth  behind 
them.  But,  however  heavy  the  shadows  of  coming  events 
may  have  fallen  to  dim  the  light  of  this  event  in  the 
minds  of  thoughtful  men  and  women  there,  it  was  a  gen 
uine  delight  to  the  young  folks  who  thrive  on  the  sun 
shine  and  wither  in  the  shade.  Music  was  interspersed 
with  speech-making,  of  course.  PMear  the  closing  of  the 
program,  John  Speer,  who  had  a  genius  for  directing 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  189 

things  successfully,  deftly  swung  the  tone  of  the  moment 
to  a  lighter  pitch  by  announcing: 

"  We  have  a  fine  company  of  young  men  here  to-night. 
They  were  no  less  a  fine  company  during  the  unpleasant 
weeks  now  over.  I  move  you,  Doctor  Robinson,  that 
they  be  represented  on  our  program,  and  that  we  ask  Mr. 
Elliot  Darrow  to  sing  '  The  Red,  White,  and  Blue,'  and 
we  '11  all  join  in  the  chorus." 

A  general  hand  clapping  and  calling  for  "Darrow! 
Darrow ! "  "  Let 's  hear  the  Quaker."  "  Come  on,  Dar 
row!" 

Elliot's  hands  grew  cold.  His  gift  of  song  was  mainly 
an  untrained  inheritance,  self-cultivated,  because  he  loved 
music,  and  especially  the  music  of  words.  Inheritance 
counts  for  much,  however.  Behind  him  was  a  long 
Quaker  ancestry  of  capable  people  doing  as  well  the 
little  as  the  great  things  of  their  day,  and  calmly  meeting 
every  demand,  confident  of  victory  at  last.  It  was  this 
heritage  of  never  faltering  that  staid  the  bashful  young 
man  in  what  seemed  to  him  at  that  instant  the  most 
frightful  undertaking  he  had  ever  had  to  encounter. 

"I  think  the  Missourians  are  moving  on  Lawrence," 
he  whispered  in  Speer's  ear.  "  Let  me  go  up  on  Mount 
Oread  and  see." 

But  Speer  only  laughed,  and  the  call  for  Darrow  went 
on.  Dr.  Robinson  stood  smilingly  commanding,  and  the 
young  man  was  pushed  to  the  front  by  the  happy  crowd. 
As  he  turned  to  face  the  audience,  his  heart  beating  a 
record-making  register  in  his  breast,  his  eyes  met  David 
Lamond's.  In  the  Scotchman's  honest  face,  Elliot  read 
sorrow,  disbelief,  and  a  line  of  something  so  like  con 
tempt  that  resentment  and  personal  pride  came  to  the 
rescue  where  approval  might  have  failed.  But  he  was 
very  pale  with  a  pallor  that  was  accented  by  his  dark 


190  AWALLOFMEN 

hair  and  eyes.  In  the  moment's  hush  he  saw  little  Rosa 
lind  St.  Felix  in  the  front  seats  looking  up  at  him  with 
happy  confidence,  and  he  smiled  back  at  her.  That 
genial  smile  that  always  won  its  way  to  the  heart  seemed 
to  catch  the  heart  of  the  whole  room.  He  was  almost 
through  the  first  stanza,  however,  before  his  voice  was 
quite  under  control  or  his  self-consciousness  had  left  him. 
With  the  ringing  chorus: 

When  borne  by  the  red,  white,  and  blue, 

he  forgot  himself  in  the  inspiration  of  the  song.    Sweet 
and  powerful,  his  voice  rose  with  the  next  stanza : 

When  war  winged  its  wide  desolation, 

And  threatened  the  land  to  deform, 
The  ark  then  of  freedom's  foundation, 

Columbia,  rode  safe  through  the  storm; 
With  the  garlands  of  vict'ry  around  her, 

When  so  proudly  she  bore  her  brave  crew, 
With  her  flag  proudly  floating  before  her, 

The  boast  of  the  red,  white,  and  blue. 

With  the  second  chorus  the  crowd  was  on  its  feet  in 
that  thrill  of  enthusiasm  only  patriotism  for  the  old  Stars 
and  Stripes  can  ever  kindle.  In  the  exaltation  of  the 
moment,  Elliot  caught  the  eyes  of  Doctor  St.  Felix 
watching  him  with  admiration.  Doctor  St.  Felix  was  a 
small,  dark,  self-possessed  man  of  affairs  whose  approval 
one  might  value.  Beside  him  stood  Colonel  Boniface 
Penwin  and  Sheriff  Jones.  Penwin's  eyes  were  almost 
glassy  in  their  fixed  gaze.  Even  in  that  instant  the  singer 
remembered  the  lull  in  the  storm  on  the  Trail  by  the 
Hole  in  the  Rock,  and  the  shriek  of  mortal  terror  that 
echoed  down  the  narrow  ravine  in  rivalry  with  the 
screaming  wind  of  the  weather-mad  night. 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  191 

Craig  Penwin,  in  front  of  Merriford,  was  very  erect 
and  fine  to  see.  But  he  saw  no  one,  for  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  floor.  And  beside  him  stood  Beth,  looking 
with  wonderful  intentness  straight  at  Elliot.  Her  gray 
eyes  shaded  with  their  long  black  lashes  were  full  of  a 
beautiful  light.  Elliot  did  not  smile  back  at  her  as  he  had 
smiled  at  the  dainty  little  daughter  of  Dr.  St.  Felix,  and 
Lawyer  Merriford  alone  caught  the  steady  gaze  that  was 
only  momentary  but  that  seemed  to  look  straight  into 
Elizabeth  Lamond's  soul.  And  the  lawyer  smiled  with  a 
curious  little  pain  deep  in  his  heart  as  he  remembered  a 
dark-haired  girl  whom  he  had  known  in  his  young  man 
hood,  the  mother  of  his  first  born. 

"  I  '11  risk  stakes  on  the  Quaker,"  he  murmured,  softly, 
and  the  face  of  his  own  boy  came  to  him  there. 

The  audience,  carried  away  by  the  spirit  of  the  song, 
stood  motionless  through  the  last  stanza.  And  Elliot  — 
he  had  never  sung  so  wonderfully  before.  With  each 
word  ringing  out  distinctly  and  with  a  depth  of  tone 
that  was  marvelously  rich  and  musical,  he  sang  utterly 
unconscious  that  he  himself  was  holding  that  company 
by  the  magnetism  of  his  own  personality,  as  well  as  by 
the  rhythmical  beauty  of  his  voice. 

The  star  spangled  banner  bring  hither, 

O'er  Columbia's  true  sons  let  it  wave; 
May  the  wreaths  they  have  won  never  wither 

Nor  its  stars  cease  to  shine  on  the  brave; 
May  the  service  united  ne'er  sever, 

But  hold  to  their  colors  so  true; 
The  Army  and  Navy  forever, 

Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white,  and  blue. 

Coke  Wren's  eyes  were  swimming  with  tears  as  he 
hugged  Patty's  arm. 

"Me  an*  you's  the  Kansas  'Navy  forever,'  Patty,  ef 


192  AWALLOFMEN 

we  go  by  that  cloudburst  that  washed  our  house  away 
last  June."  He  had  to  joke  to  relieve  his  feelings. 

"Don't  mind  bein'  the  Navy  now  and  ag'in,  Cokey," 
Patty  smiled  through  her  own  tears.  "  But  this  bein'  the 
'  Navy  forever '  is  drawin'  it  a  little  too  strong  on  a  bird 
like  me.  I  'm  no  gull." 

There  were  other  tear-wet  eyes  beside  the  Wrens'  when 
the  last  chorus  was  ended.  And  David  Lamond  turned 
away  with  a  sorrowful  face. 

"The  boy  sings  true.  Why  can't  a  fine  fellow  like 
that  have  the  courage  of  a  true-hearted  soldier?  But  if 
he  can  only  sing  for  his  country,  he  '11  never  help  to  win 
its  battles,"  and  the  heart  of  the  brave  Scotchman  was 
heavy  within  him. 

The  latter  hours  of  the  peace-party  were  delightful. 
With  the  social  compelling  effect  of  appetizing  refresh 
ments  and  the  general  spirit  of  cordiality,  and  the  pleas 
ure  of  laying  aside  temporarily  the  burden  of  prejudice 
and  antagonism  that  the  conditions  of  the  Territory 
enforced  in  the  struggle  for  freedom,  it  became  a  time 
of  relaxation  and  charming  intercourse. 

Colonel  Penwin,  who  knew  how  to  be  most  genial,  vied 
with  his  son  in  his  courtesy  to  Beth,  introducing  her  to 
the  most  distinguished  guests,  and  presenting  her  to 
Doctor  Robinson  and  Colonel  Lane,  to  Sheriff  Jones,  and 
the  officers  of  the  Missouri  militia. 

David  Lamond  smiled  in  his  sunny  beard  as  he 
watched  the  action  of  his  political  enemy. 

"If  he  knew  that  golden-haired  Scotch  lassie  as  well 
as  I  do,  he  would  know  how  little  she  cares  for  the  sham 
and  show  of  things.  Bless  her  heart!  Let  the  whole 
family  spread  itself  in  doing  honor  to  my  daughter,  if  it 
wants  to.  I  '11  be  as  quick  to  draw  my  fighting  sword 
against  that  gentlemanly  Colonel  as  I  ever  was,  if  he 


THE    PEACE    PARTY  193 

thinks  he  can  force  his  Southern  views  on  me.  But  as 
to  Craig,  somehow  the  boy  attracts  me.  He  is  fine  look 
ing,  to  begin  with,  and  he  is  straightforward,  with  no 
attempt  at  deceit.  And  then  I  owe  him  lasting  gratitude 
for  the  rescue  of  Patty  and  Beth." 

A  most  distinguished  host  of  this  party  was  Winthrop 
Merriford,  doing  the  honors  with  exceeding  tact  and 
grace.  And  John  Speer,  also  a  man  of  grace  in  any  com 
munity,  did  much  to  prove  the  fine  quality  of  the  Law 
rence  citizens  to  their  equally  distinguished  guests  who 
forty-eight  hours  before  had  been  their  bitter  enemies. 
And  all  the  while  the  little  Merriford  and  Speer  children 
raced  about  with  the  other  little  ones  whose  parents  had 
allowed  them  to  come  to  this  important  affair. 

"  Mrs.  Merriford,  I  want  you  and  Mrs.  Speer  to  meet 
Miss  Lamond,"  Winthrop  Merriford  said,  as  he  rescued 
Beth  from  Sheriff  Jones'  company,  to  her  great  relief. 
In  the  midst  of  the  greeting,  Merriford  caught  Elliot's 
arm,  who  was  passing  just  then. 

"  Present  us  to  your  friend,  Darrow,"  he  said. 

"In  a  moment;  she  wants  to  meet  Craig  Penwin," 
Elliot  replied  just  as  Doctor  St.  Felix  took  his  daughter's 
arm. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said  to  Elliot.  "  I  want  Rosalind 
to  meet  Colonel  Penwin,"  and  the  little  lady  went  smil 
ingly  with  her  father. 

It  happened  just  then,  nobody  could  have  told  how, 
for  nobody  planned  it  so,  that  the  attention  of  everybody 
else  was  caught  away  for  a  moment,  leaving  Beth  and 
Elliot  side  by  side  and  a  little  apart  from  the  others. 

"  Elliot,"  Beth  said,  with  shining  eyes,  "  you  sing  beau 
tifully.  I  am  so  proud  of  you." 

A  step  nearer.  A  voice  so  deep  it  was  hardly  audible, 
and  a  look  no  other  might  interpret,  as  Elliot  said : 


194  AWALLOFMEN 

"Thank  you,  Beth.  And  you  are  beautiful.  I  am 
always  proud  of  you." 

A  shimmer  of  light  blue  fluffiness  touched  about  with 
fine  black  silken  cord,  a  dancing  of  blue  velvet  forget- 
me-nots  in  raven  hair,  and  Rosalind  St.  Felix  was  at 
Elliot's  side.  A  throb  of  pain  shot  through  Beth's  heart 
as  she  saw  how  frankly  happy  the  dainty  lady  seemed 
to  claim  Elliot  again.  The  girls  were  introduced  and 
with  Craig  the  four  went  away  to  the  refreshment  tables 
together. 

"That's  the  finest  quartette  I've  yit  seen,"  Coke 
Wren  declared  as  he  looked  after  the  four.  "What  do 
you  say,  Merriford?" 

"I  say,"  answered  the  lawyer,  "that  you  and  I  will 
earn  the  reputation  we  have  for  gossiping  pretty  soon. 
But  there  is  a  group  of  fine  types,  surely;  the  Southern 
gentleman,  the  staunch  Quaker  boy,  the  Scotch  lass  and 
the  little  French  lady.  All  good  samples,  too." 

And  with  an  ache  in  his  heart  that  would  not  be  stilled 
as  he  thought  of  his  loved  one  under  the  church-yard 
grasses  back  in  Massachusetts,  and  of  his  boy  whose 
letter  he  waited  day  by  day  to  receive,  Winthrop  Merri 
ford  turned  for  comfort,  as  he  always  did,  to  the  sweet- 
spirited  woman  who  made  his  home  pleasant  and  filled 
his  years  with  kind  companionship. 

Beth  looked  back  as  she  left  the  door  that  night  just 
in  time  to  see  Elliot's  gentle  courtesy  as  he  escorted 
Rosalind  down  the  hall  toward  the  hotel  parlors,  and  to 
catch  the  pleasure  and  pretty  responsiveness  with  which 
the  girl  received  his  attention. 

And  Craig  —  for  him  the  beginning  and  the  end  and 
the  middle  of  the  whole  affair  had  had  only  one  note. 
It  vibrated  to  the  same  tone  always. 

"Elizabeth,  Elizabeth,  Elizabeth." 


CHAPTER    XIV 
WINTER    WEATHER 

Ever  thicker,  thicker,  thicker, 
Froze  the  ice  on  lake  and  river, 
Ever  deeper,  deeper,  deeper, 
Fell  the  snow  o'er  all  the  landscape. 

—  Longfellow. 

ON  the  day  following  the  "peace-party"  there  was 
a  great  straightening  up  of  disordered  rooms,  a 
great  stowing  away  of  party  finery,  a  great  settling  down 
to  the  routine  of  "the  morning  after,"  and  a  general 
sense  of  the  uncertainty  and  insecurity  of  the  time  of 
truce.  Yet  the  party  had  helped  everybody,  as  relaxa 
tion  and  playtime  always  help  the  tense  mind  and  mus 
cles. 

Mrs.  Merriford  and  Jupe  were  busy  with  the  work  of 
putting  things  to  rights  and  Annie  and  Nellie  Merriford 
were  romping  through  the  rooms,  chattering  of  the  eve 
ning  before,  their  first  party  with  real  grown-ups,  when 
Winthrop  Merriford  came  hastily  into  the  living-room. 

Mrs.  Merriford  was  a  satisfying  woman,  who  could 
put  more  comfort  with  less  effort  into  the  lives  she 
touched  than  many  a  more  brilliant-minded  homemaker 
could  have  done.  But  she  never  saw  a  line's  width  into 
anybody's  mind.  Her  inward  happiness  breathed  itself 
out  to  all  who  met  her,  she  could  not  wound  anyone,  and 
the  dim  sense  of  loss  in  her  husband's  maturer  years  was 
of  something  lacking  in  her,  although  he  could  not  have 
said  what  it  was.  The  daughters,  like  their  mother, 

195 


196  A    WALL     OF     MEN 

adored  their  father,  but  they  never  in  all  their  years 
understood  that  a  shadow  rested  on  his  life.  It  was 
Jupe's  quick  eye  that  caught  the  sign  of  it  this  morning, 
and  while  the  others  looked  up  fondly  and  blindly,  his 
face  was  full  of  sorrow. 

"Emily,  I  have  letters  from  Boston,"  Merriford  an 
nounced. 

A  jubilee  of  shouts.  Letters  from  home  were  always 
a  godsend  in  those  lonely  days. 

"  Come  into  the  parlor  a  minute,"  he  went  on.  "  No, 
girls,"  to  the  rush  of  the  little  ones,  "  let  Jupe  help  you  to 
do  mother's  work  for  her  now,"  and  he  turned  them  back. 

They  trotted  away.  Like  their  mother,  they  could  be 
happy  at  anything.  Only  Jupe  looked  imploringly  at  his 
employer,  who  slapped  him  affectionately  on  the  shoul 
der  as  he  passed,  and  the  negro  could  not  know  how 
that  look  of  affectionate  sympathy  warmed  the  heart  of 
the  scholarly  man  so  far  beyond  him  in  mental  attain 
ment. 

"I  must  go  to  Boston,  Emily,"  Merriford  said  when 
they  were  alone.  He  was  too  much  of  a  wise  lawyer  to 
plunge  rashly  into  matters  with  this  wife  of  his.  "I 
have  some  important  news  that  must  be  considered,"  he 
went  on. 

Emily  Merriford  came  to  his  aid  in  her  way.  "We 
can  get  along  all  right,  only  we  '11  be  lonely.  It 's  a  good 
time  to  go,  too.  The  war  is  over  and  the  winter  will  be 
quiet.  How's  Neil?  Bless  his  heart." 

Merriford  was  looking  out  of  the  window  just  then. 
Something  in  the  street  had  caught  his  eyes.  Mrs.  Mer 
riford  turned  to  look,  too,  so  she  lost  the  deep,  heart 
breaking  sigh  that  her  husband  smothered  back. 

"  Neil  is  still  South,"  he  said. 

"Why,  Winthrop,  did  he  go  back  again  after  all?    I 


WINTER    WEATHER  197 

thought  he  had  decided  to  let  the  matter  rest  awhile. 
He's  pretty  young  to  marry  yet,  anyhow." 

"He  has  never  been  back  to  Boston,"  her  husband 
said,  gravely. 

Mrs.  Merriford  meditated.  "He  hasn't  written  us 
from  there,  has  he  ?  I  've  been  so  busy  with  this  trouble 
here,  and  with  the  sick  and  needy  settlers,  I  have  hardly 
kept  track  of  the  family.  Is  there  anything  wrong?" 

"I  hope  not,"  her  husband  responded.  "You  are  an 
angel  in  these  sick  places,  dearie,"  and  Merriford  faced 
his  wife  bravely.  "I  had  letters  from  Neil's  business 
partners,  the  firm  of  Osborne,  Merriford  and  Osborne, 
informing  me  that  they  hear  nothing  from  him  at  all  and 
urging  me  to  come  at  once.  I  think  I'll  go." 

"  He  may  be  in  Boston  by  the  time  you  get  there,"  his 
wife  offered,  consolingly. 

"  Yes,  he  may  be.    I  must  leave  this  afternoon." 

"  I  '11  have  everything  ready  for  you  then,"  Mrs.  Mer 
riford  returned.  "  I  '11  get  right  to  work." 

"  Thank  you,  Emily,"  the  lawyer  put  his  arm  about  his 
wife  and  kissed  her  cheek.  "  You  are  such  a  comfort 
to  me." 

When  he  was  in  the  office  again  Jupe  came  in  hesi 
tatingly. 

"You  gwine  East,  Mars'r  Merriford?"  he  asked. 

"Who  told  you  so?"  asked  Merriford. 

"  I  s'mised  it,"  the  negro  answered,  with  a  grin. 

"  You  are  a  good  surmiser.  Now  be  as  good  an  em 
ploye,  and  keep  things  all  ship-shape  till  I  get  back," 
Merriford  said,  with  a  smile. 

But  there  was  no  smile  on  the  shining  black  face 
before  him. 

"Don't  go,  Mars'r  Merriford.  'Tain't  no  use  now. 
Don't  go,"  he  said,  slowly. 


198  AWALLOFMEN 

"Why  not,  Jupiter?  None  of  your  African  supersti 
tion  now.  None  of  your  hoodoo  business.  If  you  know 
of  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't  go,  say  so." 

"I  dassen't,  Mars'r,  'fore  God  Almighty,  I  dassen't. 
I  hain't  out  of  bondage  yet.  Not  yet." 

"  Well,  then,  go  back  to  your  service  and  don't  bother 
me,"  the  lawyer  said,  kindly.  "I'm  leaving  this  after 
noon.  Be  a  faithful  helper  here  till  I  get  back.  I'm 
going  to  meet  Neil  there  if  nothing  happens." 

"Nothin"ll  happen,"  the  negro  said,  slowly.  "It's 
done  did,"  he  added,  as  he  turned  away. 

"Where  to,  so  fast?  You  didn't  get  your  beauty 
sleep  after  the  party,  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Merriford.  I 
thought  it  was  only  doctors  who  had  to  get  out  early." 
So  Doctor  St.  Felix  greeted  Lawyer  Merriford  as  the  lat 
ter  collided  with  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Eldridge  House. 

"  Good  morning,  Doctor ;  I  'm  just  getting  ready  to 
start  out  of  town.  Maybe  I  am  a  little  breezy,"  Merri 
ford  replied. 

"  Going  far?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"As  far  as  Boston  at  least,"  came  the  answer. 

"Will  you  have  time  to  come  into  my  office  a  min 
ute?"  St.  Felix  inquired. 

"Just  about  that,"  Merriford  said,  and  the  two  went 
inside  for  a  consultation. 

It  was  said  in  Lawrence  that  Winthrop  Merriford 
looked  ten  years  older  the  afternoon  after  the  peace- 
party.  But  he  went  East  that  evening,  and  the  bitter 
weather  and  the  suffering,  and  the  stirring  swing  of 
events  of  the  days  that  followed  swept  this  particular 
impression  out  of  mind. 

And  the  winter  was  a  bitter  one.  Even  in  a  land  of 
prosperity,  where  the  common  comforts  are  easily 
secured,  it  would  have  been  accounted  severe.  How 


WINTER    WEATHER  199 

much  more  keenly,  then,  did  it  cut  into  the  life  centers 
on  this  needy  frontier.  Not  only  did  the  cold  blasts  and 
heavy  snows  swoop  in  as  a  surprise,  for  the  impression 
of  a  sunny,  temperate  season  had  obtained,  it  fell  upon 
a  people  not  prepared  for  an  ordinary  winter's  cold. 
The  little  unchinked,  unfloored  cabins,  the  scarcity  of  fuel 
and  of  means  to  reach  it,  the  lack  of  food  and  clothing, 
and  the  tragic  force  of  sickness,  all  combined  to  test  the 
souls  of  the  pioneer  people  and  prove  their  power  of 
sacrifice  for  freedom.  Marriages  may  be  postponed  until 
fairer  weather,  but  births  and  deaths  come  at  their 
appointed  time.  Many  a  new  mound  under  the  snow 
that  winter  was  marked  by  a  rude  slab  bearing  the 
inscription:  "Beloved  Wife  and  Infant  Child." 

It  was  to  the  homes  left  motherless  and  wifeless  that 
the  pioneer  women  ministered  most  during  the  drear 
January  and  February  of  this  new  year. 

Mark  Darrow  was  on  his  feet  —  and  his  head  —  again 
in  a  short  time,  but  Joe  was  less  lucky,  for  pneumonia  is 
persistent,  and  Doctor  St.  Felix  made  more  than  one  call 
at  the  Darrow  cabin.  On  the  last  occasion  he  brought 
his  daughter  with  him. 

"  She  is  the  best  prescription  I  make,"  he  said  when  he 
presented  her  to  Isabel.  "  My  patients  begin  to  improve 
the  minute  she  comes." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Darrow,  it's  a  case  of  two  evils.  When 
papa  can't  do  anything  else  he  takes  me  along,  and  the 
sick  folks,  seeing  what's  coming,  begin  to  get  well  in 
pure  self-defence." 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling  and  her  cheeks  blooming.  In 
her  heavy  dress  and  warm  furs  she  seemed  to  defy  the 
chill  without,  and,  as  she  was  deft  and  sensible,  as  well 
as  sunny-spirited,  it  was  easy  to  accept  her  as  her  father's 
,best  prescription. 


200  AWALLOFMEN 

"  May  I  leave  her  here  till  I  go  to  Palmyra,  Mrs.  Bar- 
row?"  the  doctor  asked.  "I  have  some  grave  diphtheria 
cases  there,  and  I  don't  care  to  take  Rossie  into  them 
unless  it  is  necessary." 

"Certainly,  let  her  stay,"  Isabel  replied,  and  as  the 
doctor  left  she  asked,  "  Does  thee  go  with  thy  father  into 
contagion  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  needed,"  Rosalind  answered.  "  I  've  been 
shut  in  with  scarlet  fever,  and  diphtheria,  and  twice  I 
staid  with  the  black  small-pox.  I  'm  not  afraid  of  it  any 
more.  I  Ve  had  it." 

She  pushed  her  black  hair  back  from  her  forehead  and 
revealed  a  group  of  tiny  scars.  "I  got  these  from  the 
first  case,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Now  I  'm  immune." 

"Why  did  thy  father  let  thee  do  it?"  Isabel  asked. 
Small-pox  was  truly  the  black  beast  of  diseases  to  her. 

Rosalind  looked  up  at  the  older  woman.  Her  young 
face  was  dimpled  and  her  clear,  dark  complexion  matched 
her  brilliant  black  eyes  and  heavy,  glossy  hair.  A  quick 
smile  and  a  joyous  nature  were  hers,  too.  It  sent  a 
thrill  through  the  heart  of  the  Quaker  woman  when  she 
said  simply: 

"  Mrs.  Darrow,  my  mother  died  with  small-pox.  They 
would  n't  let  me  go  to  her.  After  that  I  went  to  the  first 
case  I  could,  and  now  I  have  no  fear  of  it." 

Rosalind  had  her  father's  quiet  way  with  the  sick. 
She  won  Joe's  heart  at  once,  and  she  was  telling  him 
stories  and  bathing  his  face  at  the  same  time  when  Beth 
Lamond  came  unannounced  into  the  sickroom. 

"Mark  sent  me  in,  Mrs.  Darrow,"  she  began  in 
apology  for  her  sudden  appearance,  but  she  paused  at 
sight  of  the  dainty  little  lady  sitting  there  so  perfectly 
at  home  and  useful.  Something  more  than  surprise  held 
the  Scotch  lassie.  In  that  moment  a  vision  swept  up  in 


WINTER    WEATHER  201 

imagination,  a  picture  she  would  not  have  made  herself, 
but  her  imagination  made  it  without  her  leave.  A  pic 
ture  wherein  the  central  figure  was  this  same  little  lady, 
in  her  own  home,  caring  for  children;  this  girl  in  her 
neat-fitting  dress  of  dark  green  cloth  with  a  touch  of  red 
in  little  out-cropping  threads  here  and  there,  and  the  cun 
ning  little  red  satin  bow  tied  at  her  white  collar.  And 
the  other  figure  in  Beth's  picture  was  a  broad-shouldered, 
dark-haired  man,  a  man  whose  kindly  smile  won  every 
body  to  him. 

Youth  can  live  ages  in  a  minute,  and  Beth,  standing  in 
the  hall  doorway,  saw  long,  lonely  years  roll  by  in  that 
brief  instant.  She  wondered  as  they  rolled  how  she  could 
ever  have  felt  angry  because  Elliot  once  —  oh,  ages  ago  — 
once,  had  kissed  her.  Or  how  she  could  ever  have 
grieved  him,  if  indeed  she  had,  with  her  praise  of  Craig. 
But  wondering  ceased,  and  pictures  faded,  for  Rosalind 
herself  was  smiling  up  at  Beth  and  the  two  were  greet 
ing  each  other  and  saying  commonplace  things. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  kitchen  made  Joe  cry 
out: 

"That's  Elliot.  Come  in,  Ellie,  I  want  to  show  you 
something.  Keep  still,  girls,  and  surprise  him,"  he  added 
in  a  lower  tone. 

"All  right,  Joedicker,  in  a  minute;  let  me  wash  my 
hands,"  came  the  cheery  response. 

They  heard  him  splashing  water  in  the  kitchen,  whis 
tling  and  singing  by  turns.  His  voice  at  low  pitch  was 
especially  melodious,  and  he  had  hummed  the  first  lines 
of  the  old  song : 

I  dreamt  that  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls, 

and  as  he  set  the  basin  in  its  place  and  came  into  the  hall 
he  had  reached  the  softly  ringing  words : 


202  AWALLOFMEN 

I  also  dreamt,  which  pleased  me  most, 
That  you  loved  me  still  the  same. 

"  Take  your  choice,"  Joe  cried,  gleefully. 

Elliot  stopped  in  surprise.  The  girls  were  looking  at 
him  unconscious  of  the  expectancy  that  each  face  held, 
but  the  young  man,  who  was  not  blind,  saw  it  quickly. 

"  Well,  it 's  an  embarrassment  of  riches,  little  brother ; 
I  '11  take  both,"  he  smiled  genially  and  held  out  a  hand  to 
each.  "  Only  they  don't  either  one  want  me.  They  came 
to  see  you.  I  come  in  for  reflected  glory." 

How  could  Rosalind  St.  Felix  know  that  while  the 
same  smile  and  same  hand  clasp  were  for  both,  when  the 
young  Quaker  turned  to  Beth  there  was  something  in 
the  glance  that  had  not  been  there  before.  But  if  Rosa 
lind  failed  to  see  what  was  not  intended  for  her, 
Isabel  Darrow  across  the  room  had  come  in  just  in  time 
to  note  it  and  understand  its  meaning.  She  looked  curi 
ously  at  Beth  with  that  same  sense  of  loss  and  choking 
sensation  mothers  have  had  as  long  ago,  maybe,  as  the 
time  of  Eve  herself,  when  she  first  knew  that  Cain  meant 
to  take  a  wife  from  the  land  of  Nod.  The  sense  of  the 
first  rift  between  the  supremacy  of  love  of  mother  and 
that  second  supremacy  of  human  love. 

Few  mothers  have  there  ever  been  who  met  this  mo 
ment  calmly  nor  fought  any  battle  with  their  aching 
hearts  before  they  yielded  to  the  inevitable.  Isabel  Dar 
row  was  wise  with  a  broad,  womanly  wisdom,  and  the 
picture  her  imagination  created  then,  like  unto  the  one 
Beth's  mind  had  made,  but  not  the  same,  was  half  a  joy 
and  half  a  sorrow  to  her.  It  would  take  the  silent  places 
and  the  silent  hours  wherein  her  Quaker  spirit  would  be 
in  quiet  peace  before  complete  mastery  would  be  hers. 
Just  now  she  came  to  her  son's  side,  and  neither  one  could 
know  how  to  the  two  younger  women  she  seemed  the  fit- 


WINTER    WEATHER  203 

test  of  the  three  to  stand  beside  him  and  claim  him 
entirely.  It  was  all  a  dim  sense,  however,  not  analyzed 
and  understood  until  long  afterward. 

When  Doctor  St.  Felix  called  for  his  daughter,  she 
held  Mrs.  Darrow's  hand  clasped  tightly  in  hers. 

"May  I  come  again?"  she  asked.  "I  have  no  mother 
of  my  own." 

Isabel  looked  with  great  mother-love  down  into  her 
pleading  face. 

"Come  as  often  as  thee  can,"  she  said,  cordially,  and 
she  knew  why  she  felt  safer  to  have  this  girl  with  her 
than  anybody  else  just  then. 

EUiot  tucked  the  robes  about  Rosalind  when  he  helped 
her  into  her  father's  buggy,  and  she  smiled  her  thanks 
with  a  happy  light  in  her  bright  eyes. 

"  By  the  way,  Darrow,"  the  doctor  said,  taking  up  the 
reins,  "that  young  Delaware,  White  Turkey,  is  doing 
well  now.  He  stood  the  ride  up  to  Lawrence  all  right 
the  day  I  took  him  from  here,  and  he  was  heroic  when 
I  probed  for  the  bullet.  Few  tribes  are  equal  in  any  way 
to  the  Del-awares,  anyhow." 

"  Did  you  find  the  bullet?  "  Elliot  asked. 

"  Yes,  close  to  the  bone  in  his  thigh.  Loss  of  blood 
was  all  he  had  to  pay,  but  it 's  a  miracle  it  was  not  a  fatal 
loss  of  blood." 

"Did  you  keep  the  bullet?"  Elliot  queried. 

The  doctor's  face  was  impenetrable. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  gave  it  to  him,  and  told  him 
to  keep  it.  It  does  n't  pay  to  get  too  many  races  tangled 
up.  One  at  a  time  is  enough  to  work  upon." 

H^  had  made  a  motion  to  start,  but,  holding  his  r«in  in 
check,  he  leaned  over  the  dashboard  toward  Elliot,  who 
stood  with  his  hand  on  the  thills.  "Darrow,  I  am  a 
doctor  of  medicine,  not  a  politician.  But  I  am  a  South. 


204  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

erner;  my  beliefs  are  with  the  South  in  its  institutions. 
I  did  not  come  here  to  force  my  own  notions  on  any 
body,  however.  I  shall  think  and  vote  and  control  my 
business  as  I  please  and  let  others  do  the  same,  unmo 
lested  by  me.  I  thought,  though,  it  might  be  due  to  you 
and  your  parents  to  know  this  since  you  are  calling  on 
me  for  my  services." 

St.  Felix  did  not  explain  why  he  said  this  to  the  son 
instead  of  the  father  of  the  household.  Nor  did  the  young 
man  dream  that  instead  of  a  mere  explanation  of  views 
on  the  part  of  the  doctor,  he  himself  was  being  tested  for 
his  run  of  pure  metal  and  dross. 

"Doctor,  the  Darrows  are  Abolitionists.  That's  why 
we  came  here  to  live;  why  my  father  did,  and  I  came 
along,"  Elliot  smiled  as  he  said  this.  "  But  I  am  here  to 
finish  whatever  he  might  leave  undone.  Not  with  burn 
ing  and  slaughter,  though,  but  with  a  bigger  notion  of 
freedom.  But  we  are  not  so  narrow  as  to  let  this  come 
into  business  matters  or  neighborhood  matters.  You 
suit  my  mother  and  father  as  a  physician,  and  all  of  us 
as  a  friend." 

He  smiled  cordially,  and  he  may  have  looked  beyond 
the  father  to  the  blooming  face  of  Rosalind,  who  sat 
listening  eagerly.  Doctor  St.  Felix  looked  keenly  at  him 
the  while. 

"May  I  say  a  word  in  confidence?"  he  asked;  then 
added,  "  Be  careful  of  yourself.  You  will  become  a  mark 
soon  enough.  That  Indian  is  close  as  the  grave,  but  you 
have  done  well  toward  him.  When  he  comes  to  you 
listen  to  him." 

Then  taking  his  rein  again,  he  and  his  daughter  c^ove 
away. 

Joe  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  Rosalind  when  Elliot 
came  into  the  room  again.  With  the  usual  privilege  of 


WINTER    WEATHER  205 

the  youngest  child  he  expressed  himself  more  freely  and 
less  judiciously  than  any  other  member  of  the  family. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  her  tell  you  stories  and 
bathe  your  lace,  if  you  were  sick,  Ellie?"  he  insisted. 

"I  th.nk  I  would  if  I  was  real  sick,"  Elliot  answered. 

"How  sick?"  persisted  Joe. 

"Oh,  unconscious,  probably,"  his  brother  said,  care 
lessly,  for  the  subject  was  not  pleasant  with  Beth  beside 
him. 

"Oh,  Elliot  Darrow,  you  took  Rosalind  St.  Felix  to 
the  party,  and  you  said  yourself  you  had  a  good  time  and 
a  pretty  girl,  or  did  you  say  the  prettiest  girl,  to  tease 
Mark?  and  you  said  —  well,  I  don't  remember,  but  you 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  don't  you  think?" 

"  I  don't  think  anything  only  that  you  need  a  quieting 
powder,"  Elliot  answered,  as  he  patted  Joe's  cheek.  "  You 
take  care  of  yourself  and  get  well.  I  '11  take  care  of  the 
pretty  girls  if  they  will  only  let  me.  Now  be  still." 

"  Must  thee  be  going,  Beth?  It  is  early  yet,  not  three 
o'clock."  Isabel  rose  at  Beth's  preparations  to  leave. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Darrow,  I  am  going  to  Penwins'  before  I 
go  home,  and  then  by  Nethercotes*.  I've  staid  too 
long  already." 

"Thee  couldn't  do  that,"  Isabel  said,  cordially,  glad 
that  she  could  so  far  speak  sincerely,  and  the  Madonna 
face  of  the  beautiful  woman  was  fair  to  see  in  this  first 
moment  of  conquest  in  the  day's  unexpected  battle. 

Beth  looked  up,  gratefully.  "  Oh,  I  '11  be  coming  again, 
unless  the  storms  shut  me  in." 

"If  they  do,"  the  irrepressible  Joe  broke  in,  "Elliot 
will  go  to  your  house.  He  staid  up  all  the  rest  of  the 
night  on  the  night  of  the  first  storm,  and  told  me  stories. 
I  was  scared  of  that  Indian  being  here.  And  he  sang  the 
sweetest  songs,  and  he  said  no  storm  was  too  bad  to  shut 


206  AWALLOFMEN 

him  in  if  he  wanted  to  go  some  places.  Ellie's  just  as 
good,  considering, —  he 's  Mark's  brother."  This  last  for 
Mark's  benefit,  who  was  just  coming  in  in  his  usual 
bright  humor. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Mark  declared.  "  He  has  a  high  standard 
to  measure  up  by."  Mark  stretched  himself  up  proudly, 
"but  I  believe  the  lad  will  make  it.  He  improves  per 
ceptibly." 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you  to  Penwin's?  "  Elliot  asked,  with 
a  side-glance  at  Mark. 

The  boy  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Come  on,  Beth,"  he  cried.  "We  know  where  good 
company  is.  Good-by,  Elliot.  Good-by,  Joe.  I  was 
going  over  there,  anyway."  And  the  two  hastened  mer 
rily  away. 

In  the  Penwin  home  a  strange  council  was  taking 
place.  Lucy  and  Tarleton,  with  Aunt  Crystal,  had  gone 
to  Palmyra  for  an  afternoon's  buying, —  the  Penwins 
had  money  for  their  needs,  more  than  most  settlers, 
—  and  Colonel  Penwin  and  Craig  were  left  alone.  The 
Colonel,  shut  in  by  days  of  stormy  weather,  had  seemed 
to  get  a  new  hold  on  his  family.  And  the  children, 
loving  him  as  they  had  always  done,  had  rejoiced  in 
the  shut-in  time  that  gave  their  father  to  them  again 
as  he  used  to  seem. 

When  the  colored  woman  and  the  two  younger  children 
were  well  away,  the  Colonel  said,  "  Craig,  my  boy,  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  as  I  've  never  done  before  —  and  may 
never  again." 

Craig  had  been  reading  a  worn,  old  copy  of  Byron's 
poems  in  lieu  of  newer  books,  which  were  hard  to  get. 
He  looked  up  at  his  father's  words. 

"I  hope,  papa,  there  will  be  no  more  outbreaks  on 
either  side.  I  don't  see  why  there  must  be  an  eternal 


WINTER     WEATHER  207 

wrangle.  Why  can't  people  just  come  in  here  and  settle 
things  by  numbers." 

"  You  are  too  conservative,  Craig.  You  'd  not  be  a 
very  useful  citizen  anywhere,  I  'm  afraid."  The  Colonel 
was  clearly  in  a  kind,  fatherly  mood.  "  It  is  not  about 
what  is  to  be  for  this  Territory  that  I  want  to  consider 
now,"  he  went  on.  "It's  you,  yourself,  I  am  interested 
in.  Craig,  the  Penwin  family  are  first  of  all  a  family  of 
gentlemen." 

Craig  turned  his  smiling  face  toward  his  father. 

"  News  to  me,"  he  said,  jokingly. 

But  the  older  man  did  not  smile.  "  Yes,  sir ;  we  are  a 
family  of  gentlemen,"  he  repeated,  "  and  gentlemen  must 
have  money.  Money,  or  the  lack  of  it,  Craig,  has  been 
the  curse  of  this  family." 

"Why,  papa,  we  always  have  what  we  need.  I  can't 
remember  ever  wanting  many  things  I  did  n't  get,"  Craig 
exclaimed. 

"  You  '11  not  say  that  long  if  this  Territory  is  going 
to  keep  on  as  it  started  in  December.  We'll  be  a  pov 
erty-stricken  set  of  aristocrats  working  like  slaves  instead 
of  a  set  of  wealthy  plantation  owners  on  these  boundless 
prairies,  with  plenty  of  slaves  to  work  for  us. 

Craig  said  nothing,  and  the  Colonel  went  on. 

"  Craig,  my  boy,  I  must  say  some  things  to  you  to-day, 
if  they  are  ever  said." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  'm  listening,"  his  son  said. 

"I  came  to  Kansas  because  my  business  in  Georgia 
had  become  so  embarrassed  I  could  not  keep  on  and  live 
as  a  Penwin  should  live.  I  hoped  then  it  would  be  only 
a  short  time  until  I  could  build  up  again,  with  new  oppor 
tunities  here.  I  expected  to  buy  slaves  cheap  in  Missouri, 
and  to  live  like  a  gentleman." 

"  By  the  way,  papa,  did  you  know  that  Roxbury's  big 


208  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Jupiter,  from  Atlanta,  is  up  in  Lawrence?"  Craig  asked, 
hoping  to  turn  to  a  pleasanter  theme. 

But  his  father  paid  no  heed  to  his  question.  "  I  '11  be 
frank  with  you,  Craig.  My  affairs  were  so  much  entan 
gled  I  couldn't  get  out  of  Georgia  too  fast  for  my  own 
comfort.  Naturally,  I  hoped  to  rebuild  quickly  here, 
and,  by  the  Eternal,  I  mean  to  do  it ! " 

There  was  an  explosive  vehemence  in  the  last  exclama 
tion  that  made  Craig  look  up  quickly.  On  his  father's 
face  strange  lines  were  mingled :  hope,  love,  desperation, 
and  anguish,  all  struggling  with  anger  and  pride.  When 
a  man's  countenance  becomes  a  play-ground  for  these 
emotions  in  the  same  moment,  strong  forces  of  upheaval 
are  at  work  within  him;  and  Craig  stared  at  his  father 
in  amazement. 

"What  do  you  want  to  tell  me?"  he  cried,  his  fine, 
sensitive  nature  touched  by  what  he  had  seen.  "  Do  be 
quick." 

He  had  never  spoken  so  harshly  to  his  father  before, 
and  his  tone  cut  the  elder  man  like  a  knife.  But  it  was 
Boniface  Penwin's  last  hour  with  his  son.  Craig  dropped 
his  eyes,  and  his  father  went  on : 

"Craig,  you  and  I  will  follow  different  lines  of  life 
and  thought.  I  know  it  as  well  now  as  when  the  fact 
is  old  to  both  of  us.  I  am  proud  of  you.  I  love  you.  But 
we  will  lead  each  his  own  life  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
we  are  father  and  son.  I  hope  and  believe  you  will  never 
disgrace  me." 

Craig  looked  again  at  his  father,  and  the  Colonel  knew 
his  boy's  thought  and  knew  that  Craig  was  aware  of  his 
knowledge.  Clear  and  loud  as  if  he  were  shouting  from 
the  house-tops,  Craig's  eyes  were  saying: 

"May  I  but  hope  and  believe  you  will  never  disgrace 
me ! "  But  he  said  nothing. 


WINTER    WEATHER  209 

"  My  purpose  for  you  henceforth  is  this,  that  you  shall 
be  free  from  Elliot  Darrow,  his  friendship,  his  criticism, 
his  rivalry,  and  his  powerful  influence.  For  he  will  be 
a  man  of  power." 

Craig  turned  from  his  father  with  a  haughty  gesture 
and  with  contempt  in  his  tone.  "Are  the  Penwins  such 
gentlemen  that  a  common  clod  of  a  Hoosier  boy,  a 
Quaker's  son,  a  weak,  peace-loving,  cowardly  Abolition 
ist,  who  runs  home  to  mamma  when  there's  fighting  to 
be  done, —  that  from  such  a  creature  as  this,  is  what  I 
must  be  set  free?" 

There  was  infinite  scorn  in  his  tone.  Boniface  Penwin 
turned  on  him  fiercely. 

"  Put  aside  your  airs  and  listen  to  your  father.  Elliot 
Darrow  is  now,  and  will  ever  be,  your  one  great  stum 
bling  block,  your  rival,  your  enemy.  He  shall  not  defeat 
you.  By  all  the  love  I  hold  for  you,  my  boy,  he  shall  not 
ruin  your  life.  Oh,  Craig,  you  are  my  eldest  born.  You 
are  the  image  of  your  Aunt  Lucy,  my  loved,  my  only 
sister.  Dead  now.  Dead ! " 

The  anguish  of  the  wailing  tone  was  heart-breaking, 
and  Craig's  face  was  illumined  with  sympathy,  even  as 
he  struggled  with  his  pride. 

"Yes,  father,  yes,"  he  cried,  "but  there  is  nothing  in 
common  between  us.  We  were  friends  from  lack  of 
other  associates,  and  I  confess  his  plain  honesty  and 
pleasant  manners  made  me  like  him.  But  I  am  a  Penwin, 
a  gentleman."  And  Craig  stood  up  proudly  before  his 
father. 

Boniface  Penwin's  eyes  were  full  of  love  and  pride  and 
anguish  again. 

"  You  are  my  handsome  son.  You  shall  win  to  success 
in  your  life.  No  Quaker's  boy,  no  son  of  an  Abolitionist, 
shall  rob  you  of  your  own.  I  hate  him  for  the  power 


210  AWALLOFMEN 

that  is  his  against  you,  and  because  his  accursed  face 
reminds  me  ever  of  what  I  would  forget." 

"  Oh,  father,  father ! "  Craig  exclaimed,  and  he  put  his 
hands  on  his  father's  shoulders.  "  Let 's  not  talk  of  him 
any  more.  I  can  drop  him  out  of  my  mind  as  easily  as 
I  would  a  bad  dream.  When  I  slept  again  it  would  be 
forgotten.  I  am  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  hate  in 
ferior  things." 

"  Oh,  Craig  —  yes,  we  '11  forget  him.  You  may  at  least, 
and  I  '11  see  to  it  that  he  gives  you  no  cause  to  remember 
him.  Now  one  other  thing." 

He  looked  steadily  at  Craig,  standing  now  before  him 
with  folded  arms,  his  fine  face  insolent  in  its  contempt. 

"  You  shall  love  and  marry  the  girl  I  want  for  you." 

"Father,  that  is  what  somebody  back  in  Georgia,  I 
forget  who,  Roxbury  of  Atlanta,  maybe,  said  you  had 
said  to  Aunt  Lucy."  Craig  was  looking  down  in  con 
fusion  now  and  failed  to  see  the  cold  steel  of  his  father's 
eyes,  and  the  ashen  hue  of  his  cheek. 

"You  shall  love  and  marry,  I  was  going  to  say,  the 
girl  you  want  for  your  own,  even  Elizabeth  Lamond,  the 
beauty  of  Kansas." 

Craig  dropped  into  his  chair  and  leaned  his  head  on 
his  hands,  while  his  father  continued: 

"  She  will  bring  to  you  the  best  things  of  your  life  — 
honor,  virtue,  health,  beauty,  strength  of  mind,  all  are 
hers.  That  sturdy,  frugal  Scotch  father  of  hers  will  give 
her  dower.  I  shall  see  that  you  have  full  measure  from 
me.  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy,  in  you  let  me  see  all  the 
grand,  good  things  that  I  would  have  put  into  my  life. 
Let  me  live  in  you,  honored,  loved,  rich,  and  upright." 

The  tragedy  of  the  voice  and  countenance  began  in  a 
dim  way  to  reveal  to  Craig  what  a  less  sensitive  soul 
could  not  have  grasped  in  that  hour  of  confidence.  He 


WINTER    WEATHER  211 

rose  and  took  his  father's  hand.  On  his  young  face  hope 
and  sorrow  were  writing  their  lines,  but  of  high  filial 
reverence  there  was  no  trace.  And  the  lack  of  it  set  a 
hardness  therein. 

"  I  shall  love  and  marry  the  girl  I  want  for  my  own, 
even  Elizabeth  Lamond,"  he  said,  slowly.  "With  all 
this,  Elliot  Darrow  has  no  more  concern  than  the  veriest 
cur  of  the  cowardly  pack  that  gathered  on  the  Wakarusa 
banks  last  December." 

A  knock  on  the  door  startled  the  two,  and  Craig  went 
forward  to  open  it.  On  the  doorstep  Beth  was  standing, 
smiling  expectantly.  The  ride  in  the  sharp  air  had  put 
the  June  rose  bloom  on  her  cheeks,  and  the  wind-blown 
strands  of  golden  hair  curled  softly  about  her  face  in 
sweet  carelessness.  All  the  best  gifts  of  her  whose  price 
is  far  above  rubies  seemed  to  have  been  given  to  this 
fair-faced  Scotch  lass,  waiting  for  the  voice  of  welcome 
at  Craig  Penwin's  door. 


CHAPTER    XV 
JUPE'S    BONDAGE 

We  pray  de  Lord  to  gib  de  signs 

Dat  some  day  we  be  free; 
De  norf-wind  tell  it  to  de  pines, 

De  wild  duck  to  de  sea; 
We  know  de  promise  nebber  fail, 

An'  nebber  lie  de  word; 
So,  like  de  'postles  in  de  jail 

We  waited  for  de  Lord. 

—  Whittier. 

BONIFACE  PENWIN  came  forward  to  welcome  the 
visitor  with  the  spirit  of  true  Southern  hospitality 
that  is  the  same  in  a  Kansas  cabin  as  in  a  Georgia  planta 
tion  "  Big  House."  Few  people  there  are  at  any  time 
of  life  who  are  not  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  a  genial 
welcome.  To  a  young  girl  like  Beth  Lamond  it  is  espe 
cially  pleasing,  for  the  business  of  genuine  hospitality  is 
to  accent  to  the  guest  the  sense  of  his  own  worth. 

Craig  and  his  father  exchanged  one  swift  glance  as 
the  girl  came  in.  The  end  of  their  sacred  hour  of  con 
ference,  the  last  one  for  these  two,  had  come.  Hence 
forward  each  was  to  go  his  own  way,  and  neither  would 
question  the  other's  deeds  nor  motives.  But  as  father 
and  son,  they  separated  when  the  golden-haired  girl  came 
between  them  to-day.  In  the  older  man's  face  was  all 
the  tragical  pathos  of  the  one  who  is  giving  up  what  he 
is  no  longer  fit  to  hold,  yet  giving  with  it,  for  love's 
sake,  the  awful  sacrifice  of  his  own  soul,  buying  with 

212 


JUPE'S     BONDAGE  213 

crime  a  blessing  for  another  that  the  crimes  already  done 
might  be  in  some  measure  atoned. 

In  the  young  man's  face  was  determination  and  regret 
that  was  near  to  contempt,  but  there  was  no  line  of  pity. 
Had  there  been  even  the  faintest  hint  of  affectionate  sor 
row,  it  might  have  been  better  for  the  father  and  in 
finitely  better  for  him  who  withheld  it. 

"I  am  calling  on  families  this  fine  day,"  Beth  said, 
gaily,  "  and  I  thought  of  Lucy.  I  had  an  escort  from  Dar- 
rows'  part  of  the  way,  but  he  left  me  to  pilot  a  stranger 
to  Nethercotes'." 

In  fact,  the  girl  had  not  thought  of  meeting  the  father 
and  son  alone,  and  she  was  embarrassed,  else  she  might 
not  have  mentioned  the  name  of  Darrow.  She  knew  in 
an  instant,  by  the  exchange  of  glances  between  Colonel 
Penwin  and  Craig,  that  she  had  blundered,  but  she  also 
thought  that,  being  an  innocent  lack  of  tact  on  her  part, 
she  would  say  nothing  more.  And  in  her  soul  she 
resented  the  narrowness  of  so  courteous  a  host  who  yet 
could  not  brook  the  sound  of  the  name  of  an  unoffending 
neighbor. 

"Lucy  and  Tarleton  went  to  Palmyra  this  afternoon 
with  Aunt  Crystal.  Craig  and  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
doing  the  honors,"  the  Colonel  said,  with  a  bow. 

He  did  not  realize  as  Craig  did  how  easy  it  would  be 
to  overdo  matters  with  a  sensible  girl  like  Beth. 

She  took  the  offered  seat  and  with  pretty  grace  refused 
the  invitation  to  lay  aside  her  wraps. 

"Oh,  it  is  just  a  strictly  fashionable  call  I  am  mak 
ing,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  others  on  my  visiting  list.  I 
will  be  going  in  a  minute." 

"  Let  us  serve  you  something,  at  least,"  Boniface  Pen- 
win  said,  and  hastened  from  the  room,  leaving  the  two 
alone. 


214  AWALLOFMEN 

Then  Craig,  who  had  said  nothing  as  yet,  changed  to 
his  best  self  as  if  by  magic. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  remember  Lucy,  Beth,"  he 
said.  "  You  cannot  know  how  lonely  she  is  here,  nor 
how  different  is  this  frontier  to  what  she  has  always 
known  in  the  South." 

Beth's  sympathy  leaped  up  in  response. 

"How  careless  we  are,  after  all,"  she  said.  "We  are 
so  —  what?  bitter  in  our  prejudices  that  we  forget  what 
we  owe  to  one  another.  May  I  come  to  see  her  oftener?  " 

"  Oh,  Beth,  you  would  give  her  so  much  pleasure,  as 
you  always  do  to  all  of  us,"  Craig  spoke  sincerely,  and  he 
realized  as  he  had  never  done  before  how  easy  it  became 
to  be  unselfish  and  broad-minded  and  sincere  with  this 
beautiful,  sincere  girl. 

In  this  hour,  following  that  strange  hour  just  passed, 
his  father's  plans  for  him  and  his  own  growing  hopes  and 
desires  possessed  him.  He  saw  clearly  how  all  the 
future  would  open  to  better  things  when  these  wishes 
and  plans  were  realized,  and  he  set  his  soul  to  an  unwa 
vering  purpose,  the  same  purpose  his  father  was  holding 
for  him. 

Colonel  Penwin  brought  in  cake  and  some  harmless 
fruit  cordial.  Beth,  however,  was  staunch  in  her  Presby 
terian  notion  of  even  the  semblance  of  evil,  and  she  left 
untouched  the  little  wineglass  full  of  its  bright  liquid. 
She  staid  only  so  long  as  courtesy  demanded,  and  then 
gave  her  good-bys  quickly. 

"  Wait  till  I  get  a  horse,  Beth,  and  I  '11  go  home  with 
you,"  Craig  said. 

"I'm  not  going  home.  I'm  going  to  Nethercotes'," 
Beth  returned.  "  But  I  'm  just  as  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you  there,  then,"  he  suggested. 


JUPE'S     BONDAGE  215 

"  But  I  may  whip  around  by  Coke  Wren's,"  she  argued, 
laughingly. 

"  Then  by  Coke  Wren's  I  whip  too,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  I  '11  just  go  straight  home  if  you  are  determined 
to  go  along." 

"The  very  quickest  way  to  get  rid  of  me,"  Craig  de 
clared. 

"  And  the  best  for  both  of  you,"  Colonel  Penwin  said. 
"  It  is  too  late  for  Miss  Beth  to  make  these  calls  now,  and 
it  is  not  the  best  thing  to  go  unattended  through  the 
wooded  part  of  the  Trail." 

"  Oh,  I  am  really  not  afraid,  unless," —  she  did  not 
finish  the  sentence,  for  she  remembered  that  the  men 
from  whom  Craig  had  rescued  her  in  the  dark  ravine  were 
men  who  trained  in  the  same  cause  with  Colonel  Penwin. 
And  in  her  heart  she  despised  the  man  behind  the  pretty 
manners.  But  she  had  no  quarrel  with  Craig.  He  was 
most  charming  when  he  did  unbend,  and  it  was  with 
natural  pride  that  Beth  had  noted  how  he  was  always 
at  his  best  with  her.  She  was  too  inexperienced  and  too 
free  from  vanity  to  think  of  him  as  having  any  deep 
admiration  for  herself,  but  she  was  human  enough  to 
enjoy  his  attentions,  and  conscientious  in  her  gratitude  to 
him  for  his  timely  aid  in  her  moment  of  peril.  More 
than  this,  she  never  heard  his  name  under  criticism  at 
home.  David  Lamond  had  a  good  word  for  him  ever, 
while  his  wife  said  nothing  disparaging,  although  she 
reserved  her  best  words  for  Elliot  Darrow,  whom  she  had 
liked  from  the  first  meeting  after  the  families  had  settled 
in  the  Vinland  Valley. 

Colonel  Penwin  looked  after  the  young  people  can 
tering  away  across  the  prairies  in  the  cold,  late  afternoon 
light. 

"  If  I  can  get  that  settled,"  he  muttered,  "  I  '11  risk  the 


216  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

others.  Beth  will  see  to  Lucy  and  Tarley  if  I  don't. 
Lucy  is  a  capable  girl,  and  we'll  have  this  Territory 
going  right  by  the  middle  of  June,  anyhow.  It 's  got  to 
be  as  I  want,  if  I  have  to  kill  every  Abolitionist  in  this 
valley.  I  'd  be  doing  a  nation-wide  service  if  I  did." 

Craig  and  Beth  galloped  along  the  Trail  until  they 
reached  the  road  leading  to  Lamonds'  claim. 

"Let's  go  up  on  the  bluff  a  minute  and  see  how  the 
valley  looks  in  the  winter  time,"  Craig  said.  "  Do  you 
remember  how  peaceful  and  sleepy  it  looked  last  Octo 
ber?" 

Beth  remembered  that,  and  afterward,  but  she  said 
nothing  except  to  assent  to  the  suggestion.  The  snow 
was  deep  in  the  wooded  spaces.  Out  on  the  bluff  by  the 
fallen  log  the  ground  was  swept  bare.  They  reined  in  at 
the  shelter  of  the  evergreens  and  looked  out  over  the  val 
ley,  full  of  a  cold  sunset  light.  A  typical  winter  snow- 
scene  was  before  them,  pale  and  dainty  in  its  coloring, 
with  faint  touches  of  heliotrope  and  silver  here  and  there, 
accented  by  the  fine  ebony  tracing  along  the  ravines, 
while  the  pallid  sky  above  was  sloping  down  to  scarlet 
and  purple  in  the  cold  west. 

"A  beautiful  land,"  Beth  murmured.  "Craig,  why 
must  all  these  fields  be  stained  with  blood  before  the 
State  is  finally  at  peace?" 

"  They  need  not  be  if  the  fanatics  on  both  sides  were 
out  of  the  way.  But  they  are  not.  Such  men  as  stopped 
you  and  Mrs.  Wren,  for  instance,  Beth,  are  not  like  the 
Southern  people  I  have  always  known." 

"  Oh,  Craig,  I  shall  never  cease  to  be  grateful  to  you. 
I  hope  I  may  some  time  show  you  how  much  I  thank 
you." 

Pluto  and  the  red  roan  were  standing  side  by  side,  and 


JUPE'S     BONDAGE  217 

Craig  leaned  forward  a  little  toward  the  girl  as  he  said, 
earnestly : 

"  I  hope  I  may  always  deserve  your  good  will,  but  I 
would  n't  want  to  think  it  was  just  a  matter  of  obligation 
on  your  part.  And  I  hope  I  may  always  be  where  I  can 
do  you  a  service  if  you  need  me." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  with  such  frank  sim 
plicity  in  her  smile  and  tone  that  the  young  man  knew 
she  was  putting  the  most  matter-of-fact  construction  on 
his  words. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  try  to  pay  any  pretty  compliments,"  he 
said,  with  a  new  meaning  in  his  tone. 

If  Beth  noted  it  she  gave  no  sign,  but,  urging  her  horse 
to  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  she  pointed  down  the  Trail. 

"Who  comes  yonder?"  she  asked,  as  she  saw  a  figure 
moving  up  the  slope  between  the  ravine  and  the  hidden 
way  of  the  Trail. 

"  That 's  a  white  horse,"  Craig  said.  "  I  can't  tell  from 
this  distance  who  the  rider  is,  but  it  is  Darrow's  horse, 
and  if  it  is  Elliot  riding  it  he  can  tell  who  we  are,  for  he 
has  the  longest  range  of  vision  of  any  person  I  ever  saw." 

Beth  did  not  look  at  Craig  so  frankly  now,  but  kept 
her  eyes  on  the  horseman,  while  a  deeper  pink  swept  her 
cheeks.  Her  full  red  lips  closed  tightly  and  her  definite 
chin  gave  hint  to  Craig  that  he  who  would  win  this  girl 
must  count  on  something  beside  soft,  flattering  words. 
But  conquest  meant  a  prize  worth  all  it  cost,  and  he  set 
his  even  lips  together  in  sign,  with  Craig  Penwin,  of  a 
purpose  unchangeable. 

"We  need  not  wait  for  him,"  Beth  said,  and  turned 
to  face  the  woods. 

"Where's  he  been  hanging  about  while  you  came  on 
to  our  house?  "  Craig  could  not  keep  back  the  question. 


218  AWALLOFMEN 

"Elliot?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  was  at  home  when  I 
left  Darrows'." 

Craig  looked  curiously  at  her.  "  She  can  lie  gracefully, 
anyhow,"  was  his  mental  comment. 

In  the  woods  they  came  face  to  face  with  John  Brown, 
who  greeted  them  as  passing  strangers. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  Beth  asked. 

"Yes.  He's  the  man  who  sentenced  us  each  to  ten 
years  of  trouble  up  here  last  October,"  Craig  replied. 

"Oh,  the  man  who  said  that  about  the  horses  mean 
ing  something.  A  black  horse  for  power,  and  a  red  roan 
for  bloodshed.  I  guess  the  white  one  for  peace,  with  us, 
is  down  in  the  valley,"  Beth  said  gaily. 

Craig  did  not  smile,  as  he  said  coldly: 

"  Where  the  white  horse,  or  the  one  who  wears  a  white 
feather,  will  always  be,  out  of  the  way  of  harm  to  him 
self." 

But  Beth  gave  no  heed  to  his  word. 

"  That 's  the  man  who  had  to  be  shown  to  Nethercotes* 
as  I  came  over  here.  Mark  went  with  him,  leaving 
me  to  go  on  alone  to  your  house.  Because  I  didn't 
have  to  be  shown,"  she  added,  with  a  roguish  twinkle  in 
her  eye. 

"Mark!  Hm!  she's  adroit,"  Craig  thought,  but  aloud 
he  said:  "He's  the  Captain  of  the  Free-State  militia 
organized  in  the  recent  War  of  the  Roses,  or  of  the 
Wakarusa.  There  '11  be  no  white  horse  nor  dove  of  peace 
wherever  he  pitches  his  camp.  Now  remember  what  I  Ve 
said."  There  was  a  ring  of  prophecy  in  Craig's  voice. 

"  Well,  let 's  hurry  home  to  avoid  a  battle."  Beth  gave 
Pluto  a  touch  with  her  riding  whip  and  they  hurried  on 
their  way. 

At  the  Lamond  door  Craig  said,  "Beth,  may  I  come 
over  some  evening  soon?  It  is  mighty  lonely  out  here 


JUPE'S    BONDAGE  219 

this  winter.  Or  is  your  father  real  set  against  us  younger 
fellows?" 

"You  will  be  very  welcome,  I  am  sure.  You  should 
hear  how  kindly  my  father  speaks  of  you  always,  before 
you  ask  such  questions,"  Beth  said,  smilingly,  and  'bade 
him  good-by. 

"  Just  in  time,  daughter,"  David  Lamond  greeted  Beth 
when  she  came  in.  "  Mother  wants  to  ride  Pluto  over 
to  Nethercotes'  to  stay  all  night.  The  baby  is  worse 
again." 

"  Count  on  mother  if  there  is  anybody  needing  help," 
Beth  said.  "And  by  the  way,  papa,  that  John  Brown 
came  along  as  Mark  Darrow  and  I  were  going  to  Pen- 
wins',  and  Mark  left  me  to  show  him  the  crooked  trail 
round  the  shoulder  of  the  bluff  to  Nethercotes'.  We  saw 
him,  I  mean  Mr.  Brown,  as  we  came  home." 

"Who  is  'we'  ?"  her  father  asked. 

Beth  blushed  a  little  as  she  answered.  "  Oh,  Colonel 
Boniface,  Junior,  came  home  with  me,  although  I  insisted 
there  was  no  ugly  ravine  rilled  with  ruffians  between  here 
and  Penwins'." 

Lamond  frowned  at  her  light  tone. 

"  Don't  say  '  Boniface  Junior,'  Beth,  he  said.  "  There 
is  little  in  common  between  that  father  and  son.  Craig 
is  a  brave,  manly  fellow,  and  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you 
speak  lightly  of  what  he  did  for  you.  I  know  young 
men  who  would  not  have  had  the  courage  to  face  four 
desperate  men.  There  are  young  fellows  who  make  a 
fine  appearance,  but  who  disappear  when  danger 
threatens.  We  had  such  in  Lawrence  last  December." 

At  this  point  Patty  Wren  came  hurrying  in. 

"  Cokey  made  me  do  it,"  she  declared.  "  He 's  goin* 
up  to  Merrifords'  to  stay  a  few  days  with  Mis'  Merriford 
an'  the  children  while  Lawyer  Merriford 's  gone.  I 


220  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

wanted  to  stay  over  in  our  own  roostin'  place,  but  he 
just  made  me  come  over  here."  And  Patty  dumped  a 
budget,  neatly  tied  up,  on  the  floor  beside  her. 

"  There 's  my  clean  pocket  handkercher,  and  the  dom 
ino  blocks,  an'  some  corn  to  pop,  an'  my  tattin',  an' 
thread,  an'  shuttle,  an'  some  good  hickory  nuts.  Some 
body  sent  them  to  the  Darrows  with  the  H  cosier  family 
that  moved  out  in  November.  Elliot  brought  some  of 
them  over  to  us  this  afternoon.  Bless  his  heart.  If  he 
ain't  the  salt  of  the  earth  it  don't  need  no  saltin'." 

Beth  noted  that  her  father,  so  loud  in  his  praise  of 
Craig  a  few  minutes  before,  said  nothing  now.  And 
Patty  ran  on: 

"The  Good  Bein'  didn't  see  fit  to  give  Cokey  an'  me 
no  children  of  our  own ;  but  ef  I  was  sortin'  'em  out  my 
self,  an'  had  the  pickin'  of  the  lot,  I  think  I  'd  a'  taken 
Elliot  Darrow  first." 

"You'd  need  to  stiffen  up  his  backbone  a  bit,  I'm 
afraid,"  the  Scotchman  said,  sadly.  "  He  lacks  what  his 
country  needs  —  courage." 

Beth  looked  at  her  father  as  he  said  this,  but  the  kind- 
hearted  Scotchman  turned  away  that  he  might  not  see 
the  pain  his  words  gave  to  her,  and  that  she  should  not 
see  the  sorrow  in  his  own  face. 

"  My  blessed  lassie ! "  he  murmured  to  himself.  "  All 
the  Lamonds  have  been  tried  and  true.  I  will  not  have 
her  come  to  the  place  where  she  must  blush  for  the  weak 
will  of  husband  and  sons.  For  every  Kansas  man  will 
be  tried  in  the  fire  until  we  are  free,  and  Elliot  Darrow 
must  stand  up  in  this  wall  of  men.  or  wear  the  craven's 
mark  of  cowardice.  And  yet,  how  winning  and  manly 
the  boy  seems.  If  he  were  n't  a  Quaker,  and  a  coward  at 
heart,  I  could  rejoice  in  him." 

Patty  was  settled  in  the  Lamond  home  for  a  brief  stay. 


JUPE'S     BONDAGE  221 

She  helped  with  the  housework,  of  course ;  she  made  her 
tatting  shuttle  fly,  while  she  told  stories  of  old  New 
England.  She  popped  ^orn  and  cracked  nuts;  she  read 
the  bible  and  sang  old,  old  hymns,  and  recited  Felicia 
Hemans  and  Cowper.  She  knew  Coleridge's  "Ancient 
Mariner"  from  memory;  and  she  told  how  Coke  de 
clared  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  old  Wren  family  had  this 
same  white  sea-bird  on  a  field  of  blue-green  like  the  sea. 
The  kind-hearted  Wrens  were  Yankee-shrewd  in  their 
calculating,  and  Patty  insisted  on  turning  the  equivalent 
and  a  little  more  of  food  that  she  and  Coke  saved  while 
they  were  sponging  on  their  friends,  as  she  called  it, 
from  their  own  store  into  Mrs.  Lamond's  hands  for  the 
hungry  settlers  in  the  Vinland  Valley,  where,  as  in  the 
days  of  Hiawatha's  Famine, 

All  the  earth  was  sick  and  famished; 
Hungry  was  the  air  around  them, 
Hungry  was  the  sky  above  them, 
And  the  hungry  stars  in  heaven 
Like  the  eyes  of  wolves  glared  at  them. 

And  this,  with  winter's  cold  and  sickness,  was  a  part 
of  the  great  sacrifice  in  those  days  of  winning  freedom 
for  a  State. 

Meanwhile,  Coke  Wren  was  up  in  Lawrence,  called 
there,  he  told  Mrs.  Merriford,  by  a  letter  from  Winthrop, 
who  would  feel  safer  to  have  a  man  about  to  look  after 
his  affairs  now  and  then  while  he  was  away. 

"Winthrop  wrote  to  me  to  have  you  and  Patty  stay 
here  all  the  time,  until  he  gets  home,"  Emily  Merriford 
said. 

"Well,  he  said  somethin'  that  way  to  me,  too.  But 
Patty  thought  she'd  maybe  help  a  little  down  Palmyra 
way.  They're  awful  needy  down  there.  An'  sick  don't 
tell  it,  I  see  Doc  Robinson  or  that  St.  Felix  doctor  often 


222  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

scootin*  'crost  the  perairies  for  some  lone  cabin.  Mis' 
Merriford,  the  Good  Bein's  chief  Recordin'  Clerk's  got 
a  winter's  job  just  settin'  down  the  record  o'  grit  and 
courage  an*  everlastin'  endurance  the  women  of  this  Ter 
ritory 's  givin'  to  help  their  men  what's  here  to  defend 
the  eternal  right  of  mankind  to  secure  the  blessin's  of  lib 
erty  to  theirselves  and  their  posterity.  As  the  Consti 
tution  an'  By-Laws  of  our  glorious  Nation  goes  on  to 
preamble  —  King  James'  Version." 

But  while  Coke's  excuses  were  plausible  enough,  he 
did  not  repeat  the  whole  message  he  had  received  from 
Merriford.  The  letter  had  been  guardedly  worded  and 
was  plain  and  innocent  to  the  eye.  The  writer  had 
counted,  and  not  in  vain,  it  proved,  on  the  little  Yan 
kee's  shrewdness  in  reading  its  hidden  message.  For 
letters  are  treacherous  things  to  let  to  wander  about  the 
earth  at  will. 

So  Coke  kept  his  counsel,  except  with  Patty,  who  knew 
by  instinct,  anyhow,  he  declared  to  her,  and  he  counted 
on  her  to  set  him  right,  even  with  the  written  orders 
before  him.  He  was  vastly  busy  at  nothing  in  particular 
for  days  on  days.  True,  the  citizens  did  note  that  some 
Delaware  Indian  was  always  coming  into  town  from 
the  reservation  across  the  Kaw.  They  did  not  remark 
that  it  was  always  the  same  Indian,  White  Turkey.  But 
when  a  tall,  fine  looking  Shawnee  began  to  be  seen  in 
Merriford's  office  lounging  by  the  fire,  there  were  some 
who  remembered  him  as  the  brave  who  had  pledged  the 
Shawnees  to  the  aid  of  Lawrence  in  the  Wakarusa  war. 

"Taking  out  his  pay  in  a  warm  place  to  loaf,"  the 
citizens  said.  "  Merriford's  office  is  better  than  a  half- 
buried  tepee."  And  then  they  forgot  all  about  him. 

Coke  came  to  know  the  Indians  very  well.    And  be- 


JUPE'S    BONDAGE  223 

cause  he  was  so  honest-fibred  they  came  gradually  to 
trust  him. 

"  So  you  let  young  Darrow  pack  you  home  that  night 
you  got  shot,"  he  said  to  White  Turkey  one  day,  "and 
then  told  him  you  was  out  of  your  head  and  delirious 
when  you  said  you  went  down  there  to  keep  watch  on 
somebody  that  night.  Well,  I  want  to  know.  You're 
worth  adoptin'  into  the  ranks  all  right,  but  you  redskins 
go  at  things  so  all-fired  like  dumb  oysters." 

White  Turkey  looked  blankly  impenetrable  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Don't  you  know  you  could  help  a  lot  if  you  'd  open 
up  and  tell  what  you  know?  "  Coke  urged. 

41  Pale  faces  talk  too  much,"  the  Indian  said.    "  White 
Turkey  talk  when  talk  counts,"  and  he  shut  up  for  the 
time,  for  Jupe  came  in  at  that  moment. 
"  I  'se  ready,  Mars'r  Wren,"  the  negro  said. 
"  Do  you  want  this  Injun  to  stay  here?  "  Wren  queried. 
"  Indian  not  want  to  stay,"  White  Turkey  declared,  as 
he  stalked  out  of  the  office. 

Wren  closed  the  door  left  open  by  the  Indian,  and 
turned  to  see  Jupe  lowering  the  blind  to  the  one  front 
window. 

"What  for?"  he  asked. 

"So's  to  git  there  quicker.  Can't  do  nothin'  with  all 
Lawrence  gawkin'  in  here,"  the  negro  answered. 

Then  patiently  and  painfully  there  began  for  Jupe  a 
schooling  in  two  of  the  three  R's,  a  lesson  he  took  daily 
now.  With  Coke  as  a  teacher,  and  with  infinite  zeal  and 
persistence,  the  negro  labored  to  grasp  the  beginnings 
of  reading  and  writing.  But  it  was  a  discouraging  task. 
The  big  body  and  the  big,  loyal  soul  had  so  little  of 
brain  fibre  for  expression.  The  big  fingers  accustomed 
to  picking  cotton,  the  big  muscular  strength  that  could 


224  AWALLOFMEN 

hold  the  strongest  man  in  Kansas  at  arms'  length,  could 
not  hold  the  little  pencil  and  make  it  obey  the  little  will. 
With  the  power  of  a  giant  and  the  mind  of  a  child,  the 
great  fellow  struggled  with  the  harsh  beginning  of  real 
training  for  power. 

"Talk  about  abolitin'  us  from  slavery,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Mars'r  Wren,  when  we 's  all  done  aboluted,  ef  we  ever 
is,  how's  we  ever  gwine  to  git  free  in  our  own  little 
cocoanutty  haids?" 

"Just  like  ever'  other  race  has  had  to  git  its  mind  — 
liberty, —  by  bulldoggin'  along  an'  never  givin'  up  it's 
books  till  it  was  master  of  itself.  You  ain't  the  first  folks 
in  this  world  to  come  out  of  your  soul-darkness,  nor  you 
won't  be  the  last  till  the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  shall  cover  the  earth,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea." 

"  How  'd  Mars'r  Merriford  know  I  'se  needin'  some 
body  just  like  you  all  to  help  me  out  'n  my  house  o'  bond 
age?  I  never  told  him." 

"  No,  Jupe,  nor  you  don't  need  to  tell  him  nothin', 
'cause  he 's  a  lawyer  an'  what  he  wants  to  know  he  '11 
find  out  anyhow ;  but  you  '11  save  a  lot  of  time  if  you  tell 
him  straight  out  what 's  on  your  mind." 

"  Did  Mars'r  Merriford  done  write  to  you  to  give  me 
this  here  lift,  you  done  givin'  me  now?"  Jupe  asked, 
eagerly. 

"  No,  he  did  n't  say  a  word  about  it.  I  found  out  you 
needed  it.  He  told  me  he  knowed  you  wanted  it  —  even 
if  you  hadn't  never  said  it,  and  havin'  the  time  to  burn 
this  onery  winter  weather,  I  could  help  you  some,  and 
you  can  help  Merriford  if  you  will,"  Coke  repeated. 

"  I  don't  das'  tell  I  'm  nearder  out  o'  bondage.  'Tain't 
cause  I  'm  feared.  Hit 's  count  of  him  his  own  self.  Hit 
is  so." 

The  two  worked  on  for  a  long  hour.    Jupe  was  making 


JUPE'S     BONDAGE  225 

progress,  it  is  true,  but  only  slowly,  and  Coke,  with  all 
good-will,  was  not  a  finished  educator.  But  the  patient 
zeal  of  the  big  scholar  and  the  sympathy  and  kindness 
of  the  little  teacher  brought  to  each  a  measure  of  reward 
by  slow  degrees. 

At  the  close  of  the  hour  Jupe  asked  innocently. 

"Say,  Mars'r  Wren,  did  you  ever  find  the  gun  what 
had  that  bullet  you  taken  and  give  to  Mars'r  Merriford 
here  one  day  last  fall?" 

Coke  was  on  the  alert,  but  he  drawled  carelessly. 

"  I  want  to  know.  Did  Merriford  show  you  that  bul 
let?" 

"  No.    He  throwed  hit  away,"  Jupe  replied. 

Coke  looked  out  of  the  side  window. 

"  Snowin*  agin,  golly !  Great  Kansas !  Sunny  climate ! 
mild,  temperate  winters!  Bammy  springtimes!  That's 
what  the  real  estate  poster  said,  I  read  back  in  Boston 
last  spring.  But  I  hain't  a'  goin'  back." 

Coke  did  not  see  the  shrewd  gleam  in  Jupe's  eye,  for 
he  was  still  looking  out  at  the  falling  snow. 

"  Oh,  hit  won't  snow  forever.  You  '11  be  pickin'  wild 
flowers,  an'  gwine  fishin'  'fore  ye  know  it,"  the  negro 
said,  turning  his  back  on  the  Yankee  as  he  stood  at  the 
other  side  window. 

"  Fishin' !  Well,  I  reckon  I  will  be.  Wish  I  could  go 
to-morrow,"  Coke  exclaimed. 

"  Where  do  you  fish  down  your  way  ? "  Jupe  asked. 
"In  the  Wak'roosy?" 

"  Most  too  fur  off.  I  don't  know  where  we  would  go. 
It 's  a  good  ways  over  to  Ottawa  Crick  or  the  Marais  des 
Cygnes,"  Coke  answered,  as  he  whistled  meditatively. 

"Lemme  show  you  where."  Jupe  was  standing  by 
Merriford's  desk  laboriously  scratching  on  his  old  slate 


226  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

with  a  slate  pencil.  "I  must  be  gwine  now.  Will  you 
help  me  write  a  letter  to  Mars'r  Merriford  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,  to-morrow,"  Wren  replied,  and  Jupe  went  into 
the  house. 

The  Yankee,  by  chance,  glanced  at  the  slate  as  he  was 
putting  away  the  evidences  of  the  day's  lesson.  Scrawled 
on  it  in  rude  form  he  read : 

"the  O  in  the  rok." 

He  had  forgotten  why  Jupe  had  put  it  there,  but  inter 
ested  in  the  negro's  progress,  he  held  the  slate  in  his  hand 
and  tried  to  recall  the  conversation.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  carefully  scrutinized  the  slate  again. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  softly.  "In  the  springtime,  gentle 
Annie,  I  '11  go  fishin'  at  the  Hole  in  the  Rock.  But  what 
will  be  my  bait?  And  what  am  I  to  catch?  Golly!  I'll 
toil  all  night  even  if  I  catch  nothin'  at  this  Hole  in  the 
Rock." 

He  erased  the  words  from  the  slate  and  as  he  turned 
to  put  it  away  he  caught  sight  of  Jupe  outside  the  office 
window. 

"You  big,  innocent  animal!  Ef  you  get  over  your 
superstition  and  crazy  notions  and  let  us  know,  we'd 
help  you.  Maybe.  But  maybe  not,  neither.  Better  trust 
that  it's  all  right  as  it  is,  I  guess,"  and  Coke  also  went 
into  the  house. 

With  much  effort  of  cramped  fingers  and  burdensome 
thinking,  Jupe  worked  out  his  letter  at  the  next  day's 
lesson.  When  it  was  done  the  teacher  looked  at  his 
pupil  shrewdly. 

"You're  learnin',  Jupiter  Pluvius,  you're  learnin*. 
You  're  'most  a  lawyer  now.  You  say  so  much  and  know 
so  little." 

"  My  name  ain't  Jupiter  Pluzus,  er  what  you  called  me. 
Hit's  Jupiter  P.  Roxbury,  sah,  formerly  of  Atlanta, 


JUPE'S     BONDAGE  227 

Georgia,  sah,"  and  Jupe  made  a  sweeping  bow  of  mock 
courtesy. 

What  Coke  had  read  in  the  letter  bore  witness  to  Law 
yer  Merriford,  when  he  read  it  in  Boston  a  week  later, 
that  Jupe  deserved  Coke's  compliment  of  saying  so  much 
when  he  knew  so  little.  And  a  hope  and  a  dread  strug 
gled  within  the  reader's  mind  as  he  thought  of  Jupe's 
full  emancipation  from  his  mental  bondage. 

Merriford  read  and  pondered  long  over  what  Jupe  had 
set  down  with  Coke's  help.  Recalling  all  Doctor  St. 
Felix  had  said  the  day  he  left  Lawrence,  be  believed  he 
was  at  last  getting  a  hold  on  the  negro  in  spite  of  his 
bonds.  The  writing,  with  much  flourish  and  straggling 
of  letters  and  words  off  into  lonely  corners,  ran  as  fol 
lows: 

/ 

I  is  comin*  on  slow,  but  I  hain't  none  givin'  up.  I  stands  by 
my  word.  I  help  Mis'  an  the  little  girls.  An'  I  keeps  STILL. 
Do  your  bestest,  an*  wait.  Mr.  Wren  he  goin'  fishin'  when  hit 
hain't  snowin'.  Hit  will  be  warmer  an'  needn't  go  south. 
Hit 's  all  here  when  I  gits  free  out  o'  my  bonds.  You  not  find 
hit  no  place  else  but  come  home  to  Kansas.  The  sun  is  risin' 
every  day  always  hit  will  be  light.  Godalemity  bless  you  all. 

J.  P.  ROXBURY. 

With  obligm'  to  C.  W.  I  do  not  break  no  promise. 


CHAPTER    XVI 
FIRESIDE    FOES 

It  is  hard  to  walk  on  with  what  fate  may  have  sent 
For  your  company — hunger  and  doubt  and  unrest, 
And  yet  keep  the  heart  steady  that  beats  in  your 
breast 

CRAIG  availed  himself  of  Beth's  permission  to  call  in 
the  lonely  winter  evenings,  nor  did  he  fail  to  make 
his  visits  agreeable,  and  to  receive  a  cordial  invitation 
from  David  Lamond  to  come  again.  The  fair-minded 
Scotchman  was  too  just  to  hold  a  grudge  against  the 
young  man  because  of  his  father's  views.  Craig  had  res 
cued  his  daughter  from  insult  and  peril,  and  had  said 
frankly  but  quietly,  "I  would  not  lift  my  hand  against 
a  Free-State  man  unless  I  had  other  cause,"  although  he 
did  not  repudiate  his  own  privilege  to  a  pro-slavery 
belief. 

"  The  young  man  is  honest  with  all  of  us,  independent 
in  his  views,  well-bred,  unassuming,  and  courageous. 
Somehow,  I  have  faith  in  him  that  when  the  test  comes 
he  will  run  well  to  good  metal."  So  Mr.  Lamond  ad 
vised  with  his  wife  one  evening,  as  the  two  chatted 
together  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

Beth  and  Craig  were  playing  chess  in  the  living-room, 
and  their  voices  in  lively  chatter  came  to  the  ears  of 
the  older  people. 

Mrs.  Lamond  did  not  respond  to  her  husband's  expres 
sion.  She  knew,  indeed,  he  had  spoken  truly  of  Craig, 
but  she  was  a  shrewd  woman  who  could  keep  her  own 

228 


FIRESIDE     FOES  229 

counsel.  And  she  knew  that,  added  to  all  that  he  had 
said,  Craig  Penwin  was  finding  favor  because  David 
Lamond  in  his  heart  was  trying  to  justify  his  opposition 
to  Elliot  Darrow. 

"  The  best  husband  that  ever  lived,  the  kindest  father, 
the  lovingest,  truest  man,"  Mrs.  Lamond  said  to  herself. 
"But  that  stubborn  Scotch  nature  that,  once  set,  is  un 
changeable,  that  stern  notion  of  courage  and  loyalty, 
and,  deep  down,  that  wonderful  love  for  his  own  child, 
that  makes  him  cling  to  her,  nor  want  to  give  her  up 
to  anybody, —  he  doesn't  reckon  with  all  these,  and  it's 
no  use  for  me  to  try  to  show  him.  I'll  trust  the  Lord 
and  let  matters  take  their  course.  But,"  she  added,  with 
a  triumphant  smile,  "his  will  has  always  been  supreme 
here  —  a  good  will,  of  course  —  and  he  hasn't  counted 
on  Beth  —  who's  got  a  chin  built  just  like  her  father's, 
and  a  mouth  every  bit  as  firm.  It  will  be  a  pretty  fight 
when  the  day  of  reckoning  with  her  comes.  But  they 
love  each  other,  and  back  of  all  of  us  is  the  loving  Father. 
I  guess  there  '11  be  no  serious  disaster." 

When  the  game  was  done,  Beth  sat  down  on  the  com 
fortable  settle  and  began  to  chat  of  commonplace  things. 
And  Craig  now  proved  how  quickly  he  could  make  an 
evening  pass.  The  tall  old  clock,  brought  from  Pennsyl 
vania  with  much  care,  struck  off  the  hour  of  ten. 

"I  must  be  going.  I  did  not  know  it  was  so  late. 
I  am  so  glad  you  live  in  Kansas,  Beth,"  Craig  said, 
jokingly. 

"It  is  convenient,"  Beth  replied,  "for  if  I  lived  in 
Pennsylvania  or  Indiana " 

"Oh,  don't  mention  Indiana,"  Craig  cried,  in  disgust. 
"Such  a  set  of  weaklings  live  there.  You'd  never  fit 
into  the  place." 


230  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"I  don't  know."  Beth's  eyes  had  a  mischievous  light 
in  them.  "  I  'd  as  soon  live  there  as  in  Georgia." 

Craig's  eyes  flashed  fire,  but  Beth  was  busy  pushing 
the  burning  wood  into  a  closer  heap  on  the  hearth,  and 
when  she  looked  up,  Craig's  face  was  fine  to  see. 

"Kansas  suits  us  best  of  all,  doesn't  it?"  he  asked, 
gently. 

"It  suits  me  all  right,  and  if  it  does  you,  we  have  no 
quarrel,"  Beth  said,  lightly. 

"Shall  we  ever  have  a  quarrel,  Elizabeth?" 

Truly,  the  voice  was  wonderful  to  hear  when  he  pro 
nounced  that  name,  and  with  the  question  Craig  came 
around  the  table,  where  the  chess  men  lay  scattered, 
and  stood  beside  her  whose  name  he  uttered  as  he  did 
no  other  name  in  all  the  world. 

"Shall  you  and  I  ever  quarrel  in  earnest?" 

"I  think  it  quite  likely,"  Beth  replied,  smiling  at  him 
teasingly.  "I  am  pretty  stubborn,  like  my  daddy,  and 
we  shall  probably  get  beyond  speaking  on  some  pro  or 
anti  clause  in  the  State  constitution  soon  enough." 

"Elizabeth" — he  caught  her  hand  —  "whatever  hap 
pens  to  the  State  of  Kansas,  believe  me,  I  have  no  part 
in  all  this  warfare.  I  am  Craig  Penwin,  alone,  not 
Colonel  Boniface  Penwin's  son." 

There  was  a  proud  look  in  his  eyes  and  a  strength  in 
his  tone,  but  back  of  it  lay  an  infinite  pleading  Beth 
could  not  fail  to  see. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  gently  shaking  his  hand,  as  if 
that  was  why  he  held  hers.  "Good-night,  Craig  Pen- 
win.  You  may  be  just  that  to  me.  I'm  not  ready  to 
quarrel." 

"May  I  come  again  soon  —  maybe  to-morrow  night? 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  of  some  things,  Beth,  please!" 
He  bent  over  her  and  held  her  hand  firmly. 


FIRESIDE    FOES  231 

"Let  me  see"— Beth  hesitated  playfully— "I  have  so 
many  engagements  ahead,  I  can't  be  sure  until  I  consult 
my  calendar.  No,  I  don't  think  you  can  come.  So  many 
others  in  this  dizzy  social  time  want  my  company." 

"  I  'm  coming  anyhow,"  Craig  said,  firmly.  "  There  is 
only  one  other  person." 

"  Well,  go  call  on  her,  if  there  is ; "  and  Beth  started  to 
the  door. 

"I  mean  only  one  other  young  man " 

"How  magnanimous!"  Beth  exclaimed.  "I  didn't 
know  you  would  admit  there  were  that  many,"  and  with 
laughing  good-nights,  they  separated. 

Craig  had  not  reached  the  main  Trail  before  he  be 
came  aware  of  some  one  following  him. 

"  It  must  be  my  father,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  What  is 
the  real  secret  of  his  interest?  Can  it  be  all  love  for 
me?  Dear  papa.  Dear  papa." 

He  recalled  in  sadness  the  days  when  his  father  had 
been  his  idol.  Few  sorrows  are  equal  to  the  sorrow  that 
comes  with  loss  of  faith  and  respect  when  a  father  or 
mother  are  found  wanting. 

Craig  stalked  on  gloomily  for  some  distance.  Then 
he  suddenly  stopped.  He  was  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wood  that  hid  the  main  Trail  from  view  of  Lamond's 
claim. 

"  I  '11  have  it  out  here  with  father,"  he  declared.  "  He 
shall  not  track  me  like  a  hound." 

He  stood  still  in  the  shelter  of  a  bunch  of  low  ever 
greens.  The  figure  behind  him  came  forward  cautiously 
and,  before  Craig  was  aware,  had  spied  him  out.  Halt 
ing  beside  a  low  tree,  whose  shadow  scarcely  concealed 
him,  he  waited. 

"Well?"  Craig  said,  in  a  low  voice,  peering  keenly  at 
the  object  he  saw. 


232  AWALLOFMEN 

"You,  Darrow?"  came  a  deep  voice  in  response. 

At  the  same  time  Craig's  eyes  made  out  the  outline 
of  the  man,  wrapped  in  an  Indian  blanket. 

"  No,  you  red  Indian,"  he  cried,  scornfully.  "  Did  you 
expect  to  find  Elliot  Darrow  spying  on  me  back  there? 
You  are  on  a  level,  you  two,  whoever  you  are."  And 
the  young  man  started  forward. 

But  the  Indian  was  too  swift  for  him.  With  a  stride 
he  bounded  beyond  Craig,  and,  turning,  faced  him  in 
the  Trail. 

"Craig  Penwin,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "You  wise  fool. 
You  talk  big  talk.  You  hate  Darrow.  You  let  some 
man  kill  him.  You  let  him  do  it.  Same  as  you  do  it 
if  you  let  it  be  done.  You  can  not  harm  him.  Some  day 
you  lift  hands,  so."  The  Indian  raised  his  hands  in  the 
attitude  of  prayer.  "You  lift  your  hands  to  Darrow. 
You  beg  him  to  spare  your  life.  You  dog.  Now  go 
home.  I've  said  truth."  And  like  magic  the  red  man 
melted  into  the  gray-black  shadows  of  the  wood. 

In  spite  of  his  will  to  think  otherwise,  Craig  could  not 
forget  the  Indiari's  prophetic  denouncement  of  himself, 
and  it  made  him  hate  Elliot  more  than  ever. 

"If  the  smooth-faced  Quaker  is  playing  the  spy  on 
me,  I'll  pay  him  in  good  coin,"  he  declared.  "I  hate 
trickery  and  deceit,  but  if  he  means  to  undermine  me  in 
that  way,  I'll  come  to  it  fast  enough,  I  suppose.  This 
is  the  whole  game  with  me  now,  and  I  'm  in  to  win.  I  '11 
be  fair  to  the  fair.  I  did  not  vote  to  come  to  Kansas.  I 
was  brought  here.  I'd  go  back  to  Georgia  to-morrow, 
only  I  know  what 's  there.  My  father's  name  under  ban 
for  financial  dealing  of  some  kind.  Everything  went 
wrong  when  Aunt  Lucy  died.  If  she  only  could  have 
lived!  Oh!" 

It  was  a  pathetic  sigh  that  followed,  for  it  marked 


FIRESIDE    FOES  233 

the  moment  of  passing  of  the  old  honorable  way  of  life 
for  Craig,  and  the  beginning,  faint  indeed,  but  neverthe 
less  the  beginning,  of  a  new  way  of  winning  by  any 
means,  fair  or  foul.  No  moment  in  a  career  can  be  more 
fraught  with  pathos  than  the  one  that  notes  the  down 
fall  of  high  ideals.  For  Craig  henceforth,  the  gentleman 
must  give  place  to  the  trickster. 

Meanwhile,  the  Indian  pushed  on  eastward  until  he 
came  to  the  Darrow  homestead.  A  moment  he  paused 
in  the  cedar  clump  outside.  Then  he  rapped  softly  at 
the  kitchen  door.  Mark  came  to  open  it. 

"  White  Turkey  want  shelter,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  hello,  partner,"  the  boy  exclaimed.  "  Come  in, 
come  in.  Father,  here's  White  Turkey;  wants  to  stay 
all  night.  Out  after  the  man  who  shot  you  two  months 
ago?  I  hope  you  got  him." 

By  the  hall  fire  the  Indian  wanned  himself  and  delib 
erated  before  he  spoke. 

"  Medicine  Man  St.  Felix  say  at  sunset  you  go  to 
morrow  East."  He  looked  at  Hiram  Darrow. 

"Yes,  I  am  called  back  to  Indiana  on  some  business. 
I  saw  St.  Felix  in  Palmyra  to-day.  Lamond  and  I  came 
part  of  the  way  home  with  him,"  Darrow  said. 

"Him  go?"  pointing  to  Elliot. 

"  No.  He  stays  here  with  mother,"  and  Hiram  glanced 
affectionately  at  his  wife  sitting  in  the  shadows  of  the 
chimney  corner.  "  He  will  take  care  of  the  place  till  I 
get  back." 

"Who  take  care  of  him?"  the  Indian  asked. 

"  I  '11  do  that,"  Mark  observed,  gravely. 

But  the  Indian  only  frowned. 

"You  say  too  big,"  he  said,  sternly.  Then,  turning 
to  the  father,  he  went  on :  "  Not  safe  go,  not  safe  stay. 
Let  him  go." 


234  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"I  did  want  him  to,"  Hiram  said,  smiling,  "but  he 
thinks  he  could  do  more  here." 

"Him  can,  maybe.  Big  danger  here.  Little  danger 
go."  White  Turkey's  face  was  expressionless,  as  usual. 
"Westport  to  St.  Louis  —  not  safe.  All  Wakarusa 
worse ; "  and  he  waved  his  hand  to  take  in  the  whole 
Vinland  Valley. 

"Ellie's  got  personal  property  as  well  as  real  estate 
to  look  after  here."  Mark  was  irrepressible. 

White  Turkey  nodded  gravely,  but  added :  "  Him  need 
this."  He  drew  out  a  big  tomahawk  from  beneath  his 
blanket.  "White  woman  need  this."  He  dropped  the 
weapon,  and  lifted  his  hands  as  in  prayer. 

"  We  all  need  prayer,"  Hiram  Darrow  said,  reverently, 
"and  we  Quakers  believe  it  is  stronger  than  the  toma 
hawk  to  defend  us  from  our  enemies.  Our  strength 
cometh  from  the  Lord." 

The  Indian  looked  curiously  at  Darrow  as  he  said 
this.  Little  removed  from  the  savage  himself,  with  all 
the  teachings  of  the  wild  border  strife  to  show  him  the 
white  man's  way,  this  clear-eyed,  fearless  man  seemed 
not  to  belong  within  his  comprehension  of  human  beings. 
Then  he  looked  across  to  where  Isabel  Darrow  sat. 
How  unlike  she  was  to  the  squalid  squaws  of  the  savage 
wigwams,  or  the  poverty-stricken,  and  too  often  terror- 
stricken,  women  in  the  pitiful  pioneer  homes  on  the  bor 
der.  Isabel  wore  the  Quaker  dress  of  the  olden  time. 
About  her  neck  and  lying  in  soft  folds  over  her  bosom 
was  a  spotless  white  lawn  kerchief.  Above  it  was  her 
smooth,  white  throat-  and  above  that  her  peaceful,  beau 
tiful  face,  framed  in  a  mass  of  smooth,  soft,  dark  hair 
lying  in  curving  lines  about  her  brow.  Elliot  was  stand 
ing  behind  her  chair,  ready  to  bid  her  good-night.  White 
Turkey  looked  at  the  two,  then  crossing  his  hands,  he 


FIRESIDE    FOES  235 

.mumbled  in  the  Delaware  language  some  words  they 
could  not  understand.  But  they  knew  instinctively  it 
was  an  Indian's  blessing. 

For  a  third  time  White  Turkey  became  a  guest  in  the 
warm  shelter  of  this  Quaker  home,  but  at  daybreak  the 
next  morning  he  was  off  for  the  Reservation  beyond  the 
Kaw  River.  Hiram  Darrow  and  his  son  counselled  long 
over  the  proposed  journey,  but  in  the  end  it  was  the 
father  who  went  away,  leaving  the  son  to  what  the 
Delaware  had  warned  them  was  the  greater  danger.  Yet 
all  of  this  that  was  known  to  their  good  neighbor 
Lamond  was  the  opinion  of  Dr.  St.  Felix. 

In  Lamond's  presence  St.  Felix  had  urged  that  it  was 
a  perilous  journey  at  this  time  for  a  man  who  would 
never  conceal  his  abolition  notions.  And  Darrow  had 
suggested  then  that  he  might  send  his  son  in  his  stead. 

So  another  mark  was  sorrowfully  set  against  the  young 
man  whose  good  qualities  and  magnetic  personality  were 
always  appealing  to  the  sturdy  Scotchman. 

Craig  did  call  on  Beth  the  next  evening  as  he  declared 
he  would.  But  she  was  not  at  home.  Neither  was  her 
mother.  So  Craig  and  Lamond  spent  the  evening 
together  without  them.  It  seemed  an  opportune  thing 
for  Craig.  Every  day  since  his  conference  with  his 
father  he  had  grown  in  the  determination  to  carry  out 
his  father's  wishes  and  his  growing  life-purpose.  Strong 
as  was  the  influence  Beth  held  over  him  in  itself,  the 
conditions  of  his  future  demanded  her  to  make  his  life 
successful.  In  his  keen  intelligence  he  had  noted  day 
after  day,  throughout  the  fall  and  winter,  the  real  char 
acter  of  his  father. 

Beth  should  tie  his  father's  son  to  the  life  that  he 
wished  to  lead.  With  her  was  respectability  and  honor, 
and  love,  and  home.  In  his  loneliness,  he  had  grown 


236  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

selfish  as  he  would  not  have  done  in  his  childhood  home. 
But  his  admiration  and  affection  lor  the  beautiful,  capa 
ble  girl  were  deep  and  genuine.  He  realized  daily  how 
essential  she  was  to  him  and  he  resolved  to  move  swiftly 
toward  the  conclusion  of  his  purpose. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Craig  that  he  had  chosen  this  par 
ticular  evening  for  speaking  to  Beth's  father.  Hiram 
Darrow  had  met  Lamond  on  his  way  to  Palmyra  and 
had  bade  him  good-by  with  the  request  that  he  might 
keep  an  eye  on  the  Darrow  family  while  the  father  was 
away. 

"  I'll  not  be  gone  long,  and  the  boys  are  pretty  good 
frontiersmen,  but  I'll  feel  safer  to  know  thee  is  near 
the  family,"  Hiram  had  said. 

"I'd  feel  safer  if  you  were  here,  but  I'll  be  glad  to 
do  all  I  can,"  Lamond  had  replied,  as  he  gave  a  sad 
good-by,  and,  sick  at  heart,  went  on  his  own  way. 

"  Mr.  Lamond,"  Craig  began,  as  the  evening  was  pass 
ing,  "I  want  to  say  something  to  you  in  confidence." 

He  looked  up  fearlessly  into  the  older  man's  face,  and 
there  was  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  the  confidences  of 
such  a  young  man  as  sat  before  the  fire  that  night.  And 
yet  a  shaft  of  pain  shot  through  the  Scotchman's  mind 
at  the  words.  He  could  not  have  told  why.  But  he 
answered  cordially: 

"  I  shall  keep  sacred  what  you  say." 

Craig  looked  into  the  heart  of  the  burning  coals  a 
while  before  he  went  on. 

"I  have  never  tried  to  conceal  the  fact  that  I  am  a 
Southerner.  It  is  a  part  of  my  inheritance  from  a  long 
line  of  Penwins  to  think  slavery  may  be  a  blessing  as 
well  as  a  curse.  Every  institution  may  be  abused  and 
disgraced.  I  myself  know  little  of  that  side  of  slavery. 
My  father  had  one  big  negro  whom  he  sold  —  but  that 's 


FIRESIDE     FOES  237 

no  matter  now.  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  happy 
black  folks  and  feeling  they  are  safer  than  if  they  were 
free.  I  may  not  always  think  so." 

That  was  a  more  adroit  remark  than  Craig  had  calcu 
lated,  for  it  gave  his  listener  a  sort  of  justification  of  his 
own  hope  and  motive. 

"  But,  Mr.  Lamond,  when  you  talk  of  the  South  and  the 
North,  may  I  say  I  am  here  in  Kansas,  which  is  neither 
south  nor  north,  and  I  am  for  neither  one  against  the 
other,  but  for  the  flag  of  our  one  country  above  them 
both." 

The  slender,  fine-faced  young  Southerner  was  good 
to  look  upon  as  he  made  this  declaration,  and  no  other 
sentence  could  have  been  framed  just  then  that  could 
have  gone  so  far  to  win  his  cause  with  the  father  of  the 
girl  he  loved. 

"Craig,  my  boy,  you  are  on  the  right  track,"  his  host 
said,  heartily.  "  I  understand  your  Southern  heritage 
just  as  I  know  my  own  love  for  the  old  headland  of  Ard- 
Lamond  in  Scotland.  Dear  to  me  are  the  old  Scotch 
words  and  ways.  You  may  have  noticed  how  much  my 
little  girl  wears  the  gray  and  purple  and  silver  plaids. 
She  does  it  for  her  father,  because  they  talk  to  me  of 
the  old  clan  and  old  traditions." 

"And  they  are  wonderfully  becoming  to  her  as  well," 
Craig  murmured. 

"But  with  all  my  love  for  Scotland,  I  stand  for  the 
red,  white,  and  blue  of  the  American  flag."  Lamond 
grasped  Craig's  hand  as  he  said  this. 

Did  the  same  memory  come  to  both  in  that  moment, 
the  echo  of  the  inspiring  words: 


May  the  wreaths  they  have  won  never  wither, 
Nor  its  stars  cease  to  shine  on  the  brave? 


238  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Craig  did  not  wait  for  memory  to  play  any  part  with 
either  one. 

"Mr.  Lamond,  it  is  a  hard  thing  for  a  son  to  turn 
against  a  father,  as  you  know  it  would  be  for  a  daughter 
to  turn  against  her  —  mother."  Lamond's  grave  face 
wore  a  shadow  of  pain  at  the  words. 

"  I  have  hoped,  and  still  hope,  not  to  do  it,  but  I  have 
come  to  the  parting  of  the  ways  with  my  father.  Hence 
forth,  he  will  think  and  act  according  to  his  own  views 
and  I  will  do  the  same.  Our  views  and  actions  may  be 
widely  separated.  I  hope  not,  but  they  may  be." 

There  was  a  hesitancy  and  a  manliness,  the  best  part 
of  Craig  Penwin,  in  this  speech,  and  it  won  its  way  to 
the  fatherly  heart  of  David  Lamond. 

"  They  say  the  Spring  will  see  a  renewing  of  troubles 
here.  You  will  not  blame  me  if  I  keep  as  clear  of  it  as 
I  can.  But  where  human  justice  and  human  needs  are 
concerned,  I  hope  to  do  my  part  fearlessly.  They  will 
not  all  be  brought  about  by  our  people,  either,  Mr. 
Lamond.  Not  all  Northern  men  are  brave  and  humane 
as  yourself,  and  Lawyer  Merriford  and  John  Speer,  up 
in  Lawrence. 

"  No,  not  all,"  Lamond  agreed,  sadly.  "  I  am  rejoiced 
to  hear  you  declare  yourself,  Craig.  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  stand  solidly  somewhere.  I'd  rather  fight  an  open 
foe  than  to  play  at  peace  with  a  weak-willed,  cowardly 
friend." 

Craig's  face  showed  quickly  how  well  he  understood, 
but  bis  good  judgment  kept  him  from  speaking  further 
just  then. 

Awhile  they  sat  in  silence.  Then  Craig  spoke,  and 
his  fervor  and  earnestness  left  no  place  for  doubt  in  his 
hearer's  mind. 

*'  Mr.  Lamond,  I  want  to  say  something  that  may  not 


FIRESIDE    FOES  239 

please  you.  But  I  come  to  you  first,  determined  to  let 
it  rest  there  if  it  is  your  pleasure." 

There  must  be  something  in  a  fine  inheritance  of  mind, 
else  Craig  could  not  have  moved  so  easily  on  his  course 
to-night. 

"Your  daughter,  Elizabeth" — how  full  of  grace  he 
made  that  name !  — "  has  come  to  mean  more  to  me  than 
anybody  else  ever  did  or  ever  can.  I  have  not  said  a 
word  to  her.  I  don't  know  her  mind  at  all,  for  she  is 
too  womanly  to  let  me  know  it  in  any  event.  I  want 
your  permission  to  woo  her,  and  —  heaven  help  me !  —  to 
win  her,  if  I  can." 

Lamond  could  not  see  beyond  those  words,  "heaven 
help  me,"  to  the  cunning  power  and  cruelty  of  Boni 
face  Penwin,  whose  help  without  the  aid  of  heaven 
would  be  given  to  this  cause.  He  could  not  know  how 
earnestly  Craig  wished  for  a  heaven-willed  victory,  nor 
how  back  of  that  was  the  grim  determination  that  vic 
tory  should  be  his,  nor  heaven,  nor  any  other  power 
should  rob  him  of  it. 

"I  have  one  more  thing  to  say,"  Craig  added,  only 
half  conscious  that  it  was  his  winning  card.  "It  came 
to  me  to  help  to  protect  Elizabeth  from  a  crowd  of  half- 
drunken  ruffians.  Any  man  —  any  true  man  —  would 
have  done  the  same.  I  claim  no  return  for  doing  my 
duty.  I  want  to  be  found  worthy  in  myself,  not  for 
what  chance  may  favor  in  me.  May  I  try  to  win  your 
daughter,  David  Lamond?" 

He  stood  up  before  the  older  man,  his  fine,  sensitive 
face  glowing  with  the  best  inspiration  that  the  young 
years  of  a  life  can  know.  He  had  been  true  and  fair  and 
frank.  In  himself  there  was  everything  worthy.  And 
David  Lamond,  honest,  kind-hearted,  and  just,  was  too 
true  to  himself  to  deny  what  he  had  no  right  to  refuse. 


240  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  You  have  my  permission  to  try,"  he  replied,  slowly. 
"  And  so  long  as  you  are  the  same  that  you  are  to-night, 
you  have  my  good  wishes.  Only  take  time.  Don't  be  in 
such  a  hurry  as  to  force  matters.  You  are  both  young. 
You  can  wait." 

Over  in  the  Darrow  cabin  that  night,  Elliot  and  his 
mother  sat  late  together.  What  the  children  lacked  in 
school  opportunities  in  the  West,  their  mother  went 
far  in  supplying.  She  had  been  trained  in  college  her 
self  and  she  knew  the  value  of  ideals  in  a  life  struggle. 
To-night  she  had  been  reading  poetry  to  her  sons.  When 
Mark  and  Joe  were  asleep,  Elliot  and  his  mother  fell 
into  that  confidential  mood  that,  between  mother  and 
son,  should  never  be  outgrown.  They  talked  of  many 
things,  arriving  at  last  to  the  boy's  ftuure. 

"  What  am  I  to  be,  mother?  I  must  be  about  it  soon," 
he  said. 

"Yes,  all  too  soon,"  his  mother  replied.  "What  is 
thy  own  wish?  What  most  pleases  thee  in  doing  it?  " 

"I  want,  some  time,  to  be  a  doctor  of  medicine.  It 
seems  to  me  that  Dr.  Robinson  and  Dr.  St.  Felix  do 
more  good  than  any  other  two  men  in  Kansas. 
St.  Felix  leaves  everything  alone  except  his  medical 
practice.  Yet  I  know  he  is  a  Pro-Slavery  man/' 

"Would  thee  like  to  study  medicine  with  him?  Or 
with  Dr.  Robinson?"  Isabel  asked. 

"I  think  I  should  like  St.  Felix  best,"  Elliot  replied. 

Isabel  sat  meditating  for  a  little  while.  Then  she 
said,  gently: 

"Maybe  his  daughter  would  be  some  attraction  to 
thee.  She  is  a  winsome,  lovable  girl." 

Elliot  did  not  respond  to  this  at  once,  but  sat  look 
ing  thoughtfully  before  him.  He  could  not  know,  for 
only  mothers  can  know  what  this  hour  of  renunciation 


FIRESIDE    FOES  241 

means  to  the  mother  with  her  son.  And  Isabel  Dar- 
row  was  going  bravely  through  its  moments,  knowing 
well  that  at  its  close  she  should  rise  up  rejoicing  in 
victory. 

"  Mother,  mine  " —  Elliot  had  turned  to  her  now,  and 
that  smile  of  genial  out-giving,  good-will,  and  confidence 
illumined  his  face — "I  want  to  tell  thee  something 
to-night." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  smiled  back  at  him. 

He  took  her  hand  and  caressed  it  gently.  When  he 
spoke,  at  length,  his  voice  was  so  deep  and  sweet,  and 
yet  so  powerful,  it  startled  her  who  thought  she  knew 
her  boy  in  all  his  moods. 

"  I  shall  never  be  interested  in  little  Rosalind  St.  Felix, 
because  I  have  already  found  what  fills  my  mind  too 
full  to  let  her  in  —  even  if  she  wished  to  come  in,"  he 
added,  smiling  again. 

"Yes,  Beth,"  Isabel  said. 

"Yes,  Beth,"  Elliot  responded. 

"Thee  is  young.  There  will  come  others  before  the 
time  for  thee  to  settle  definitely."  She  did  not  say 
what  she  could  not  help  but  believe,  that  her  boy  would 
find  favor  with  women  in  his  manhood  years  beyond 
the  favor  shown  to  most  men. 

"  I  know  what  I  want  now."  There  was  no  doubting 
him. 

"I  believe  thee  does,"  his  mother  said.  "Does  Beth 
know  what  she  wants?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Elliot  answered. 

"Then  find  out,"  Isabel  advised. 

"  I  have  found  out  one  thing  already.  David  Lamond 
does  not  like  me  because  he  thinks  I'm  not  only  not 
eager  to  be  a  soldier,  he  thinks  that  I  am  a  coward." 

"Has  thee  given  him  cause  to  think  so?" 


242  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"Not  intentionally.  Some  circumstances  I  could  not 
prevent  point  him  to  thinking  so,  and  he  keeps  on  in 
the  belief,"  Elliot  said. 

"What  will  thee  do?"  his  mother  inquired. 

"Let  him  think  what  he  chooses  until  he  learns  bet 
ter,"  Elliot  answered. 

"And  give  up  Beth?"  Isabel's  voice  was  not  quite 
even  as  she  asked  the  question. 

Elliot  rose  to  his  feet.  Broad  and  firm-built,  young, 
handsome,  intelligent,  strong  in  his  conscious  power, 
poised,  and  withal  gentle  and  genial  in  spirit,  it  was 
no  mean  rival  with  whom  Craig  Penwin  had  to  cope. 

"No,  I  will  not  give  up  Beth,"  he  said,  in  a  man's 
deep  voice  of  power.  "  She  may  give  me  up.  But  it 
must  rest  with  her,  not  with  her  father;  and,  as  to  my 
courage  or  lack  of  it,  mother,  I  do  not  play  any  cheap 
parts  for  mere  show.  I  can  wait  for  my  real  test  to 
come.  And  when  it  does  come,  if  I  am  not  worthy,  then 
I  deserve  contempt.  I  shall  live  my  life  in  my  own 
way,  and  settle  at  last," —  he  spoke  reverently  now  — "  for 
reward  or  failure,  with  Him  who  gave  it.  Thee  has 
taught  me  wrongly  all  these  years,  if  thee  thinks  I  could 
do  otherwise." 

Isabel  rose  and  stood  beside  her  son.  She  had  won 
her  own  battle.  She  felt  in  her  soul  that  he  would  win 
his  greater  conflict. 

"The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee,  the  Lord  be 
gracious  unto  thee,  the  Lord  make  his  countenance  to 
shine  upon  thee  and  give  thee  peace."  She  kissed  his 
forehead  and  bade  him  good-night. 

And  it  was  thus  that  two  parents,  Boniface  Penwin 
and  Isabel  Darrow,  were,  unknown  to  each  other,  send 
ing  forth  their  sons  on  the  same  mission.  And  the  prize 


FIRESIDE     FOES  243 

to  be  gained  at  last  was  the  love  of  a  beautiful,  noble- 
hearted  girl. 

Early  next  morning,  Elliot  was  off  for  a  long,  cold 
ride  to  Lawrence.  To  a  young  man  of  his  physique, 
sleep  came  easily,  and  he  had  risen  with  that  sense  of 
strength  that  refreshed  nerves  and  rested  muscles  can 
give.  The  ride  in  the  cold  winter  air  brought  the  warm 
red  blood  bounding  to  the  surface,  and  his  cheeks  were 
brilliant  and  his  dark  eyes  were  sparkling  when  he 
reached  the  office  of  Doctor  St.  Felix. 

The  physician  grasped  his  big  firm  hand  with  the 
joy  of  a  man  who  would  have  all  men  well  in  body  and 
mind. 

"You  don't  need  me,"  he  said,  as  he  led  the  way 
into  his  room  at  the  Eldridge  House. 

"  Nor  me,"  Rosalind  said,  as  she  rose  from  her  father's 
desk,  and  came  forward  to  greet  the  young  man.  "  I  'm 
papa's  nurse,  you  know." 

"  I  may  need  you  both,"  Elliot  said,  smiling.  Matter- 
of-fact  as  the  doctor  was,  he  could  not  help  glancing 
curiously  at  his  daughter,  whose  sunny  face  was  never 
so  bright  as  when  this  new  acquaintance  was  near. 

"  I  came  to  talk  with  you  about  your  profession ;  and 
yours" — he  turned  to  Rosalind.  "My  needs  may  be 
many." 

Then  Elliot  made  known  his  errand,  and  father  and 
daughter  listened  with  interest. 

"I  shall  soon  need  help,"  the  doctor  said,  "unless  a 
real  war  destroys  this  Territory  entirely.  I  shall  be  glad 
to  consider  you  as  a  possibility." 

"And  you'll  need  me  even  if  there  is  a  war,"  Rosa 
lind  said,  laughingly.     "You'll  stay  for  dinner,  now, 
won't  you?" 
Elliot  stayed,  and  all  the  Eldridge  House  diners  knew 


244  AWALLOFMEN 

that  the  handsome  young  Quaker  from  the  Palmyra 
neighborhood  was  the  guest  of  the  St.  Felixes. 

On  his  way  home  he  met  Craig  Penwin  going  up  the 
Trail. 

"Hello,  Craig,"  Elliot  said.  "Going  to  Lawrence?  I 
just  left  it  waiting  for  you." 

"Hello,  Elliot,"  Craig  responded,  but  said  no  more. 
His  business  took  him,  also,  to  the  office  of  Dr. 
St.  Felix,  in,  Lawrence,  where  he  found  Rosalind  alone. 

"Papa  has  gone  to  make  some  calls  over  among  the 
Delawares,"  she  explained.  "He's  getting  to  be  a  big 
medicine  man  for  a  few  of  the  better  class  of  Indians." 

"  He  must  be  very  busy,"  Craig  said. 

"He  is.  There  is  so  much  suffering  this  cold  winter. 
If  the  settlement  increases  there  will  be  need  of  other 
doctors  here." 

"That  will  be  a  hard  need  to  meet,  I  believe,"  Craig 
said.  "  More  lawyers  and  real  estate  agents  and  cheap 
politicians  and  general  riff-raff  come  to  the  West  each 
month.  But  real  useful  men,  like  your  father,  and  real 
statesmen,  and  good  citizens  are  scarce." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  Rosalind  differed,  prettily  enough. 
"  Of  course,  I  think  my  papa  is  a  good  citizen,  for  he 
just  sticks  to  his  business ;  but  I  Ve  been  with  him 
everywhere  out  here,  and  not  only  in  Lawrence,  but 
out  in  these  lonely  cabins,  where  settlers  are  sick  and 
poor,  Mr.  Penwin,  there  are  the  noblest  men,  all  stanch 
in  their  determination  to  make  a  fine  State  out  of  poor 
Kansas." 

"Nevertheless,  they  are  not  going  to  make  doctors 
to  help  your  father  while  they  are  making  a  State,"  Craig 
insisted. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  Rosalind  replied. 
"  One  pretty  fine-looking  young  man  was  here  this  very 


FIRESIDE    FOES  245 

day,  from  down  your  way,  too,  who  may  begin  the  study 
of  medicine  with  papa  soon." 

"  Who  could  he  be  ?  "  Craig  questioned,  in  pretended 
amazement.  "  I  've  just  come  in." 

"  Oh,  there  are  others  down  your  way,"  Rosalind  de 
clared.  "It  was  Mr.  Elliot  Darrow." 

Two  nights  ago,  Craig  had  opened  the  gates  of  his 
soul  to  receive  any  means  that  should  help  him  to  win 
his  aim.  And  Temptation,  forever  lying  in  wait  out 
side  our  walls,  rose  up  at  once  to  enter  in.  Not  with 
out  some  little  show  of  resistance,  it  is  true.  Natures 
do  not  break  without  much  bending.  And  Craig,  as  he 
looked  at  little  Rosalind  St.  Felix,  felt  a  strong  stab 
of  conscience.  But  Temptation,  ever  smooth  and  wily, 
assured  him  it  was  but  a  momentary  pain. 

"  Rosalind  would  worship  Elliot  —  any  woman  would, 
for  that  matter,"  Craig  had  to  confess  to  himself. 
"And  he  would  feel  as  I  shall,  when  Beth  worships  me. 
I'll  do  him  a  kindness,  maybe." 

Maybe?  With  only  a  faint  glimpse  of  sorrow  for 
little  Rosalind  in  the  event  of  failing  plans.  That  was 
for  her  to  consider.  Poor  Rosalind !  Aloud  Craig  said : 

"  Elliot  Darrow  is  going  to  study  medicine  ?  I  know 
one  reason  for  it."  He  looked  at  the  girl  a  moment,  then 
turned  away,  adding :  "  I  don't  blame  him,  Rosalind." 

A  blush  swept  over  Rosalind's  face,  as  she  said: 

"What  makes  you  say  that?" 

"Oh,  Darrow  is  a  good  fellow  —  strong  in  his  likes 
and  dislikes  —  and  he  will  generally  get  what  he  wants. 
He  may  have  a  special  interest  in  medicine." 

Dr.  St.  Felix  came  in  at  this  moment  and  Craig  made 
known  his  own  errand.  And  all  the  while  the  daugh 
ter's  mind  was  full  of  the  picture  of  the  young  Quaker 
as  he  had  looked  that  morning  when  he  came  in,  brilliant 


246  AWALLOFMEN 

with  the  coloring  the  crisp  air  gives,  and  the  winning 
smile,  and  the  jesting  words,  "I  may  need  you  both." 
Pity  her  that  she  put  a  new  meaning  here,  because  her 
heart  went  with  the  meaning. 

When  Craig  rose  to  leave,  Dr.  St.  Felix  said: 

"I  understand  you,  my  boy,  I  understand.  I  know 
conditions  here,  and  back  in  Georgia  as  well." 

Craig  did  not  dream  how  much  that  last  clause  meant. 

"If  you  find  it  necessary  to  hunt  a  new  home,  come 
here.  Young  men  without  homes  are  no  less  safe  in  this 
world  than  young  women  are.  You  are  right  in  your 
position  of  non-partisanship.  In  the  end,  slavery  will 
win  here,  I  believe,  but  the  struggle  will  be  awful,  be 
cause  there  is  an  element  of  earnest  manhood  building 
up  this  Territory  that  grows  more  invincible  in  its 
defence  with  every  hardship  it  has  to  meet.  The  South 
will  win  only  by  numbers,  wealth  and  brutality.  Once 
the  victory  is  won,  this  will  be  a  stately  realm,  with 
the  best  Southern  blood  here.  Only  a  little  of  it  here 
now."  He  smiled  at  Craig  with  this  personal  allusion 
to  his  own  family  and  the  Penwins.  "  But  before  that 
time,  a  wall  of  men,  God  help  them !  —  the  finest  men  I 
have  ever  known  —  must  be  battered  down  and  strewn 
in  destruction  on  a  blood-stained  land." 

Craig  looked  at  him  earnestly  as  he  went  on. 

"There's  John  Speer,  the  editor;  there  are  Lane  and 
Robinson,  invincible  and  capable ;  there 's  Lawyer  Merri- 
ford,  the  real  statesman;  and  that  grand  Scotch  fighter, 
Lamond ;  and  Captain  John  Brown,  a  man  of  strange  and 
terrible  force  beneath  a  plain,  unassuming  exterior;  and 
not  the  least  of  these,  it  may  be  nearer  to  the  greatest, 
is  that  firm-set,  fearless,  Godly  man,  that  Quaker,  Hiram 
Darrow." 

A  throb  of  anguish  pulsed  through  the  young  South- 


FIRESIDE     FOES  247 

erner,  as  he  felt  the  shame  that  Boniface  Penwin's  name 
could  not  be  listed  here.  Then,  beside  a  dead  pride,  he 
laid  down  a  dead  ideal  of  honor,  justifying  the  second 
from  the  first. 

"These  men  are  types  of  the  real  body  of  settlers," 
the  doctor  went  on.  "  Knowing  them  as  I  do,  Penwin, 
you  can  understand  why,  Southerner  that  I  am,  and  be 
lieving  slavery  is  not  the  curse  they  think  it  is,  because 
you  and  I  have  seen  it  at  its  best  —  you  can  see  why  I  am 
non-partisan,  and  why  I  forecast  a  tragical  story,  before 
there  is  another  star  sewed  into  the  field  of  blue  on  our 
flag,  and  another  State  is  made  out  of  these  beautiful 
prairies  and  fertile  valleys." 

When  Craig  bade  Rosalind  good-by,  he  gave  her  hand 
a  gentle  pressure. 

"  Your  father  opens  his  doors  to  me,  if  I  need  a  home, 
Rosalind,"  he  said.  "I  come  as  a  brother,  not  as  a 
doctor." 

She  understood  him,  and  in  spite  of  her  effort  at 
self-control,  her  sunny,  expressive  face  gave  ample  token 
of  the  thought  behind  it. 


CHAPTER    XVII 
SPRING    WEATHER 

When  first  I  loved  in  the  long  ago, 
And  held  your  hand  as  I  told  you  so- 
Pressed  and  caressed  it  and  gave  it  a  kiss, 
And  said,  "  I  could  die  for  a  hand  like  this !  " 
Little  I  thought  love's  fulness  yet 
Had  to  ripen  when  eyes  were  wet. 

—  James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

ONE  day  the  thin,  bitter  air  of  winter,  that  rasped 
like  saw-teeth,  harried  the  earth  with  its  grating 
chill.  The  next  day,  as  if  -by  magic,  the  balmy  south 
breeze  came  pouring  over  the  land.  Fair  and  far,  the 
spring  sunshine  brimmed  the  Kansas  plains  with  a 
flood  of  golden  glory.  The  prairies  took  no  time  to 
yawn  and  stretch  themselves  lazily  in  the  sweet  warmth 
and  light,  but  sprang  into  verdure  at  a  bound.  Every 
little  brown  bud  became  a  leaf,  every  close-shut  ball  an 
expanding  flower.  Along  the  woodland  way  of  the  old 
Santa  Fe  Trail  the  odors  of  moist  air  and  fresh  life- 
giving  earth  mingled  with,  the  sweet  scent  from  every 
blooming  shrub  and  tree.  Out  on  the  open  plains 

The  pen  of  a  ready  writer 

With  an  artist's  hand  to  guide  the  pen, 

could  never  make  the  picture  quite  complete.  The  eve 
ning  primrose,  the  thistle  poppy,  the  buffalo-pea,  the 
yonkopin  by  the  water's  edge,  the  cardinal  bloom  and 
blue  lobelia,  the  purple  and  cream  and  silver  and  ccar- 

248 


SPRING    WEATHER  249 

let  of  a  myriad  blossoms,  like  an  Aztec  mantle,  tinted  all 
the  sunny  prairies.  Dawn  and  sunset  and  moonrise  saw 
the  same  old  miracle  of  beauty,  ever  new  and  marvelous. 
And  golden  light  and  soft  spring  rain  brought  anew  their 
time-old  joy  and  refreshing;  while  far  overhead,  and 
wide  away  to  the  uttermost  limit,  where  things  finite 
melt  and  blend  into  things  infinite,  in  gray  cloud-mist 
or  fathomless  blue  ether,  the  heavens  declared  the  glory 
of  God,  and  the  firmament  showed  his  handiwork.  In 
the  Vinland  Valley  the  land  was  especially  fair,  and  the 
settlers,  relieved  at  last  from  the  cold,  and  famine,  and 
fever,  took  hope  anew  in  the  bright,  new,  hopeful  spring 
time.  And  the  stern,  unbending  spirit  that  had  staid 
them  in  the  dreadful  winter  months,  now  strengthened 
itself  triumphantly  in  these  kinder  days. 

The  latter  part  of  the  cold  season  found  Elliot  Darrow 
busy  in  his  new  purpose,  giving  all  the  time  he  could 
to  the  study  of  medicine.  He  went  often  to  Lawrence, 
but  not  for  extended  visits.  He  saw  much  of  Rosalind, 
and  found  her  a  delightful  friend,  and  especially  com 
panionable,  because  of  her  knowledge  of  her  father's 
profession.  His  acquaintance  in  Lawrence  widened,  and 
the  education  that  makes  a  man  of  affairs  opened  for 
him. 

Dr.  St.  Felix's  appreciation  of  his  pupil  grew  steadily. 
And  Rosalind!  Her  sunny  nature  expanded  with 
the  days.  And  all  the  more  were  her  associations  pleas 
ant  because  Elliot  showed  her  frankly  that  he  enjoyed 
her  friendship,  without  giving  hint  of  thinking  of  any 
thing  more.  Rosalind  could  have  offered  no  reason  for 
her  secret  hope  and  anticipation,  yet  daily  she  was  pic 
turing  the  joy  it  must  be  to  the  woman  who  should  win 
Elliot  Darrow  to  complete  conquest.  His  genial  man 
ner  made  him  a  favorite  with  everybody.  He  had  the 


250  AWALLOFMEN 

gift,  too,  of  not  talking  too  much,  yet  he  was  fearlessly 
outspoken  if  he  chose  to  be. 

He  saw  little  of  Craig  in  this  time  and  only  once 
since  his  father  went  East  had  he  seen  Colonel  Penwin. 
That  was  on  the  afternoon  of  his  first  visit  to  Dr.  St. 
Felix's  office.  He  had  been  thinking  of  Craig  after  the 
two  had  met  on  the  Trail,  and  in  the  confidence  of  youth 
he  had  told  himself  that,  courtly  and  dominant  as  the 
fellow  was,  Craig  Penwin  had  a  surprise  in  store  if  he 
thought  he  could  outplay  the  Quaker  boy  in  the  game 
that  was  pending. 

Elliot  was  smiling  triumphantly  as  he  rode  along,  and 
from  Craig  his  mind  ran  on  Craig's  father,  suggested 
maybe  by  the  recollection  of  the  stormy  night  in  the 
ravine.  He  was  near  the  ravine  now,  and,  as  his  horse 
cantered  down  the  slope  to  the  crossing  by  the  Hole  in 
the  Rock,  somehow  he  was  not  surprised  to  come  face 
to  face  with  Colonel  Penwin.  It  was  only  a  fulfillment 
of  his  thought  at  the  time. 

"Good  afternoon!"  he  said,  politely,  lifting  his  hat. 
For  Boniface  Penwin  inherently  commanded  recognition. 

"Good  afternoon,  sir,"  Penwin  replied.  Then,  as 
Elliot  would  have  passed  on,  he  said,  "  May  I  have  a 
word  with  you?  I  want  to  settle  some  things  at  once." 

A  feeling  nearest  to  fear  that  Elliot  had  known  since 
his  boyhood  possessed  him,  and  his  hand  on  the  bridle 
rein  may  have  seemed  unsteady,  as  he  replied : 

"Certainly;"  and  half  turning  on  his  horse,  he  faced 
the  colonel. 

The  impression  gave  Penwin  his  line  for  action. 

"The  boy  is  a  coward.  I'll  fix  him  with  one  shot," 
he  said  to  himself,  and  he  prepared  to  take  aim.  In  a 
voice  that  might  well  have  awed  an  older  man,  he  spoke : 

"  Darrowj  you  are  a  pretty  good  fellow  in  your  place, 


SPRING    WEATHER  251 

but  you  don't  always  stay  there.  Now,  I'm  going  to 
be  plain  with  you.  And  you  must  understand,  I  mean 
what  I  say,  and  mean  it  here." 

Elliot's  hand  was  not  trembling  now,  and  his  dark 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  older  man  with  an  expression 
hard  to  fathom.  He  had  noted  the  intense  feeling  back 
of  the  colonel's  words.  He  noted,  also,  that  the  man  was 
armed  with  a  heavy  revolver,  and  inside  his  coat  was 
the  gleam  of  a  half-hidden  knife.  He  had  no  notion  of 
Penwin's  business  with  himself,  but  he  understood  his 
own  business.  And  Penwin,  who  was  not  so  alert  as 
he  had  been  at  the  moment  of  meeting,  did  not  catch 
the  change  in  the  younger  man. 

"You  are  a  Quaker  Abolitionist,  the  son  of  a  —  must 
I  say  it?  —  cowardly  Quaker  Abolitionist.  Like  father, 
like  son." 

"Not  necessarily,"  Elliot  said,  with  a  smile  playing 
about  his  lips. 

The  words  stung  the  colonel,  while  they  angered  him, 
for  his  own  son  was  always  in  his  mind. 

"  If  he  means  to  insult  me  with  allusions  to  Craig,  he 
shall  pay  the  full  penalty  for  it,"  he  thought,  "  and  if  he 
means  to  play  the  hypocrite  and  beg  off  from  his  father's 
notions,  be  deserves  all  he  will  get."  Aloud,  in  a  cut 
ting  tone,  he  said: 

"  You  yourself  are  an  Abolitionist.  What  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"I  don't  care  to  say  anything,"  Elliot  replied,  and 
the  colonel  mistook  the  calm  tone  for  a  mark  of  sub 
mission. 

"He  is  even  easier  than  I  thought,"  was  his  mental 
comment. 

"It  may  be  a  kindness  to  tell  you  here  what  you 
won't  be  long  in  finding  out.  You  and  your  kind  will 


252  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

soon  be  run  back  to  Indiana,  or  New  England,  or  wher 
ever  you  came  from.  There  is  nothing  surer  under  the 
sun  —  that  is,  if  your  lives  are  worth  anything  to  you. 
I'm  giving  you  friendly  warning." 

It  had  anything  but  a  friendly  sound,  that  warning 
note.  And  the  words  and  the  attitude  and  the  expres 
sion  of  the  big,  tyrannical,  hot-headed  man  were 
strangely  out  of  keeping.  For  Elliot  read  fast  enough 
behind  the  voice  whose  hand  would  help  to  hold  the 
driver's  whip  for  the  running,  and  whose  weapon  would 
hold  the  murderous  bullet  for  the  laggard  of  the  race. 

"Now  to  make  it  easier  for  you,  and  to  do  you  a 
favor  you  will  not  be  slow  to  value" — there  was  no  mis 
taking  the  threat  veiled  in  the  language — "I  shall  say 
something  here  this  evening  that  will  be  said  only  once." 
He  paused  to  let  the  full  force  of  his  words  take  effect. 

"Well,  say  it,"  Elliot  replied,  composedly.  And  still 
the  colonel  failed  to  catch  the  spirit  behind  the  even 
voice. 

"I  have  this  to  say.  You  have  the  notion  that  you 
can  stay  here,  and  steal  away  from  my  son  what  belongs 
to  him.  I  mean  a  girl's  affection.  You  are  in  love 
with  Beth  Lamond.  You  shall  never  marry  her,  nor 
prevent  her  from  marrying  Craig.  Her  father's  consent 
is  already  given  to  Craig  to  try  to  win  her.  You  will 
not  put  one  stone  in  his  way,  you  hear  me?" 

Penwin  was  close  beside  Elliot  now.  The  heavy 
revolver  and  the  gleaming  knife  seemed  murderously 
convenient,  and  Penwin  was  a  giant  in  his  muscular 
power. 

"  You  hear  me?  "    He  growled  the  question  fiercely. 

"I  do,"  replied  the  young  man. 

In  the  late  afternoon  light,  mounted  on  his  white 
horse,  with  his  white  face,  from  which  the  color  had 


•• 


"Boniface  Penwin,  you  are  an  infamous  liar" 


SPRING    WEATHER  253 

ebbed  away,  with  his  dark  eyes  full  of  fire,  there  was 
about  him  that  subtle  sense  of  the  invisible  protection 
that  goes  only  with  the  perfectly  fearless  soul. 

"  You  may  have  the  foolish  notion  that  she  cares  some 
thing  for  you,"  the  colonel  burst  out.  "She  does  not. 
So  much,  indeed,  does  she  care  elsewhere,  that  she  even 
comes  to  see  Craig  when  she  knows  he  is  alone.  She 
came  not  long  ago  to  see  him;  she  sent  your  brother 
Mark  away  and  came  on  alone.  They  were  together  for 
hours.  I  sent  her  away  at  last.  I  thought  it  was  better 
for  her."  There  was  a  look  of  hatred  in  Boniface  Pen- 
win's  eyes,  and  an  insulting  sneer  in  his  expression  as 
if  he  would  ask,  tauntingly,  "What  do  you  think  of 
that?"  And  to  the  unspoken  query,  Elliot  replied,  in  a 
voice  so  deep  it  should  have  warned  the  older  man: 

"Boniface  Penwin,  you  are  an  infamous  liar." 

A  blow  full  in  the  face  could  not  have  blinded  Colonel 
Penwin  more.  His  voice  fell  to  the  low  depth  of  almost 
inaudible  passion. 

"  This  is  my  last  word  to  you.  Understand  me !  You 
will  keep  out  of  Craig's  way.  You  will  give  up  all 
attentions  to  Elizabeth  Lamond.  You  will  not  by  one 
word  or  act  cause  her  to  think  of  you,  nor  win  her 
thought  a  hair's  breadth  from  my  son.  You  will  prom 
ise  me  here,  and  now  all  that  I  ask.  As  sure  as  there  is 
a  God  in  heaven,  or  a  devil  in  hell,  you  will  not  vary 
one  jot  from  my  commands  to  you  here.  Promise  me, 
now!" 

As  the  eyes  of  Cain  must  have  looked  to  his  brother 
Abel,  when  the  two  were  alone  in  the  field,  so  Boniface 
Penwin's  steel-gray  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Quaker  boy, 
the  son  of  a  craven  Quaker  Abolitionist,  who  never  car 
ried  a  gun,  and  who  believed  in  the  spiritual  quackery 
called  "brotherly  love." 


254  A     WALL     OF    MEN 

Then  he  whom  David  Lamond  considered  a  coward, 
a  seeker  for  his  own  safety,  a  craven  in  war,  and  a 
weakling  in  peace  —  the  same  Elliot  Darrow  turned 
squarely  before  the  big,  heavily  armed  man.  Lifting 
his  dark  eyes  to  the  face  before  him,  he  spoke  steadily: 

"Boniface  Penwin,  I  promise  you  nothing  at  all.  I 
shall  do  exactly  as  I  please,  and,  so  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned,  you  and  all  your  kind  may  go  to  the  devil." 

Then,  wheeling  his  horse  about,  he  rode  down  the 
Trail  without  even  quickening  his  pace. 

Penwin  had  fastened  his  eyes  on  the  young  face,  and 
something  there  and  in  the  proud  carriage  of  his  form 
seemed  to  hold  his  enemy  motionless.  As  the  Quaker 
turned  to  go,  he  caught  his  breath  in  excess  of  anger, 
and  then  —  the  still,  glassy  pool  was  looking  up  at  him: 
featureless,  colorless,  a  white  bubble  where  the  stream 
trickled  into  it;  a  little  foam  where  the  overflow  slipped 
out,  a  formless,  dull  menace  —  and  Penwin  sat  again  and 
stared  at  the  waters  as  he  had  done  on  the  October  eve- 
ing  in  the  autumn  gone  by. 

The  next  evening,  Elliot  went  to  Lamond's  to  call  on 
Beth.  Craig  was  already  there,  and  Elliot,  who  had 
faced  the  father  in  his  anger,  found  the  son  a  harder  foe 
to  meet.  For  Craig  carried  all  the  conscious  advantage 
of  possession. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  an  engagement  for  the  eve 
ning  ;  I  think  I  'd  better  not  stay,"  he  said  in  confusion. 

"I  haven't  any  engagement;  Craig  just  came  in,  un 
heralded,  like  yourself,"  Beth  answered  calmly.  "  Mother 
is  popping  corn  in  the  kitchen.  She  will  be  here  with  it 
in  a  few  minutes." 

Elliot  still  hesitated,  for  he  could  not  thrust  his  com 
pany  on  those  who  had  not  expected  it,  and  Craig 


SPRING     WEATHER  255 

adroitly  let  him  feel  his  intrusion.  He  held  his  hat  and 
turned  to  go,  when  Beth  put  her  hand  on  the  door. 

"  You  are  always  welcome,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Please  stay."  And  Elliot  did  not  go. 

No  member  of  the  company  ever  forgot  that  evening. 
Nor  did  rivals  for  one  claim  ever  show  to  better  advan 
tage.  Craig  could  be  brilliant  when  he  chose,  and  with 
his  inborn  aristocracy  and  his  sense  of  superior  hold 
upon  the  good-will  of  the  family,  he  became  a  charming 
guest.  But  the  undercurrent  of  a  selfish  motive,  the 
sense  of  sham  somewhere,  made  a  hollow  ring.  And 
even  with  his  advantages,  Elliot  seemed  unawed  by 
Craig.  Then,  too,  his  own  genial  character  had  never 
shown  itself  so  well  before.  And,  with  all,  the  face  of 
Isabel  Darrow's  son  reflected  his  mother's  beauty  as  he 
sat  in  the  Lamond  home  that  night. 

"  Craig  can  never  win  against  a  fellow  like  that,"  the 
shrewd  Scotch  father  thought.  "There  must  be  some 
means  besides  those  already  used  to  accomplish  this 
thing." 

When  the  good-bys  were  said,  it  was  Elliot  who  was 
last  to  leave,  and  the  timid  glance  of  Beth's  gray  eyes, 
that  had  looked  so  frankly  up  at  Craig  a  moment  before, 
made  the  Quaker's  heart  beat  happier  as  he  went  away. 

A  little  distance  the  two  young  men  followed  the  same 
trail.  They  said  good-by  with  no  show  of  coldness,  but 
each  knew  that  the  parting  of  the  ways  had  come  for 
them.  When  next  they  spoke  as  friends,  strange  lines 
had  come  into  their  lives,  and  different  far  were  condi 
tions  about  them.  They  stood  not  equal  then,  but  one 
was  suppliant  to  the  other. 

And  now  the  Kansas  springtime  had  come,  unlocking 
the  land  to  freedom  again,  unlocking  the  pent-up  settlers 


256  AWALLOFMEN 

to  industry  and  hope,  and  unlocking  the  heart  of  youth 
to  love  and  promise. 

It  was  Sabbath,  clear,  balmy,  and  bracing,  in  the  Vin- 
land  Valley.  The  peace  of  God  was  over  all  the  prairies, 
the  joy  of  the  glad  season  of  growing  things  was  in  the 
breezes  that  poured  out  a  libation  of  honor  to  him  who 
gave  them.  There  was  a  preaching  service  again  at 
Palmyra,  and  again  the  scattered  cabin  homes  gave  up 
their  households  to  swell  the  audience. 

Patty  Wren  always  declared  that  when  she  did  things, 
with  no  reason  for  the  doing,  she  did  her  best. 

"Birds  go  by  instinct,  anyhow,"  she  declared,  "and  I 
was  a  Sparrow,  christened  Patience  Sparrow,  before  I 
married  Cokey  Wren.  So  I  've  always  been  a  bird." 

On  the  Saturday  night  before,  Coke  had  gone  fishing, 
not  by  Jupe's  order,  for  he  had  evidently  forgotten  that, 
but  down  in  a  fairly  good  fishing  place  in  the  creek; 
and  the  meagre  catch  furnished  the  Sunday  dinner. 

"I  ain't  no  reason  for  doin'  it,  only  fresh  fish  is  real 
tasty  this  time  o'  year,  but  I  'm  goin*  to  bring  Beth  La- 
mond  home  with  me  for  dinner,  an'  you  're  goin'  to  bring 
Elliot  Darrow  home  with  you." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  Coke  said,  slowly.  "  Hain't  you 
takin'  on  some  job,  Patty?  Together  we  couldn't  pull 
down  two  hundred  pound  without  Cotton  Mather 
throwed  in,  an*  Beth 's  plump  as  a  partridge.  An',  as  far 
as  Elliot,  he's  ever'  bit  as  big  as  his  father  is  now,  an' 
Hiram's  as  sizeable  a  man  as  there  is  in  the  Valley. 
Hain't  you  got  ahead  of  the  hounds  on  your  reason, 
Patty  W.,  when  you  talk  of  us  two  bringin'  'em  home?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  Coke.  An',  as  to  reason,  I 
hain't  no  reason  at  all  for  doin'  it.  Can't  I  go  by  instinct, 
same  as  them  Quakers  goes  by  the  spirit  movin'  'em? 


SPRING     WEATHER  257 

When  did  Quakers  get  a  monopoly  on  the  moving  busi 
ness,  anyhow?  Now,  do  as  I  say,  just  once." 

Coke  and  Patty  stood  looking  at  each  other.  Without 
words  they  understood  each  other. 

The  preaching  service  was  not  without  some  shadows 
of  coming  events,  and  they  were  gloomy  ones,  for  the 
struggle  for  supremacy  was  still  going  on.  But  it  was 
on  the  older  members  that  shadows  fell  heavily.  For 
children  are  born  care-free,  and  springtime  and  youth  are 
blind  to  shadows. 

Between  David  Lamond  and  his  daughter  a  faint  rift 
had  come.  No  word  had  been  said.  The  love  between 
them  was  not  lessened.  But  when  purposes  separate, 
purposes  founded  on  earnest  belief  and  loving  interest, 
the  beginning  of  new  ways  is  set  up.  It  was  the  nature 
of  Beth's  father,  having  once  decided  on  a  course,  to 
stand  firm.  For  his  decision  was  rooted  in  conscientious 
belief,  and  yet  he  could  not  just  now  bring  his  fatherly 
will  to  bear  upon  his  daughter  to  enforce  obedience. 
Beth  went  her  way,  happy,  affectionate,  but  —  she  went 
her  own  way,  nevertheless.  Craig  came  often,  and  the 
understanding  between  him  and  David  Lamond  grew. 
Elliot  came  rarely.  But  he  went  often  to  Lawrence, 
and  found  homes  welcoming  him  and  smiles  awaiting 
him.  And  Mrs.  Lamond  held  her  peace. 

"There's  nothing  setter  than  a  Scotchman,  unless  it 
might  be  a  Scotch  woman.  Beth's  too  near  like  her 
father  to  give  up,  and  she  has  too  much  of  his  own 
good  sense  to  make  a  bad  hobble.  I  guess  I  '11  just  keep 
out  of  it  and  bide  my  time." 

Beth  and  Elliot  found  themselves  guests  in  the  little 
cabin  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine  for  a  Sabbath  dinner  of 
fresh  fish  and  white  biscuit,  with  dandelion  greens,  and 
Patty's  treasured  offering  of  pickled  peaches,  saved  for 


258  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

the  biggest  affairs  only.  Dinner  parties  in  the  early  Kan 
sas  homes  had  little  of  variety  or  propriety  of  blending 
of  the  dishes  offered. 

The  young  people  had  not  met  for  several  weeks,  and 
the  joy  in  their  faces  may  not  all  have  been  the  mere 
reflection  of  the  joyous  day.  Coke  and  Patty,  with  the 
culture  bred  in  loving  homely  natures,  refrained  from 
any  hint  of  noting  this,  or  of  good-natured  joking  and 
teasing  as  coarser-fibred  people  might  have  done. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  long  afternoon,  a  messenger 
came  hurrying  to  the  cabin. 

"The  Nethercote  baby  was  worse,  and  Mrs.  Nether- 
cote  was  in  a  bad  way.  Could  Coke  go  post-haste  for 
Dr.  St.  Felix  and  Patty  stay  with  Mrs.  Nethercote?" 

Such  was  the  call,  and  the  Wrens  responded,  of  course, 
and  Beth  and  Elliot  started  on  their  homeward  way. 

There  was  no  need  to  hurry,  all  the  golden  afternoon 
was  before  them,  and  they  had  not  been  together  for 
what  seemed  to  them  a  long  time.  So  they  loitered  over 
the  verdant  prairie  abloom  with  its  rainbow-tinted 
glory  of  flowers,  and  came  to  the  crossing  of  the  Trail 
by  the  Hole  in  the  Rock.  The  placid  pool  smiled  up 
at  them  a  welcoming  peace  for  the  peaceful  day.  The 
tender  vines  trailed  over  the  gray  rock,  the  young  leaves 
cast  a  lacy  shade  on  the  young  growths  of  grass  and 
shrub  in  the  sheltered  ravine.  The  two  sat  down  on  the 
shelving  stone  by  the  water's  edge. 

"What  a  beautiful  romantic  spot  this  is,"  Beth  ex 
claimed,  as  she  looked  at  the  soft,  shadowy  waters. 

Elliot  recalled  the  night  when  the  storm  and  cold  had 
threshed  upon  him  here,  and  that  later  evening  when  the 
storm  of  a  man's  unbridled  anger  had  beat  upon  him. 
And  then  he  looked  at  Beth.  She  was  wearing  the  plaid 
silk  she  had  worn  to  the  "peace  party"  at  Lawrence. 


SPRING     WEATHER  259 

Its  soft  hues  seemed  to  blend  now  into  the  soft  spring 
time  coloring  as  they  had  graced  the  social  function  of 
feminine  finery.  Her  only  ornament  to-day  was  a  gold 
locket,  hung  about  her  neck  by  a  narrow  pink  velvet 
ribbon.  Beth  was  not  much  given  to  wearing  jewelry, 
and  on  the  frontier,  with  its  needs  and  its  terrors,  and  its 
hardships,  jewelry  seemed  to  her  in  those  first  years 
like  a  cheap  adornment. 

"Any  place  looks  good  to  me  where  you  are,  Beth," 
Elliot  said. 

She  did  not  look  up,  and  he  noted  how  the  deeper 
pink  of  her  cheek  harmonized  with  the  gray-green  and 
dark-blue  of  the  Lamond  plaid. 

"  You  wore  that  dress  the  night  of  the  peace  party, 
didn't  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  this  is  my  old  reliable,"  she  answered.  "  Offi 
cial  function,  or  log-cabin  Sunday  dinner  —  it  is  the 
same." 

"But  you  are  not  the  same,"  Elliot  said. 

"Why  not?"  queried  Beth. 

"  Because  at  official  functions  you  are  not  with  me," 
he  answered. 

"What  did  Rosalind  wear  to  the  party,  Elliot?"  Beth 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Elliot  replied. 

"  I  do,"  Beth  said.  "  It  was  a  light-blue  wool,  and  it 
was  wonderfully  becoming,  too." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  that,"  Elliot  said,  lazily,  as  he  flung  grass 
blades  at  the  quiet  waters. 

"How  did  you  know  it?" 

"Because  everything  she  wears  is  becoming  to  her, 
and  I  know  it,  and  never  notice  what  it  is  made  of  or 
the  color  or  style." 

"Then  all  I  wear  is  not  becoming,   or  maybe  this 


260  AWALLOFMEN 

isn't,  but  Craig  said  that  night  it  was."  Beth's  eyes 
were  dancing  mischievously  now. 

"I  don't  know  so  well  about  what  you  wear  being 
becoming,"  Elliot  said.  "I  know  you  would  become 
anything  you  put  on,  and  I  always  notice  exactly  what 
it  is,  and  I  think  Craig  Penwin  has  good  taste  to  know  as 
much  as  he  does,  and  good  judgment  to  tell  you  so." 

"I  didn't  want  to  go  with  Craig  that  night  —  not  so 
very  much,  I  mean."  Beth  was  breaking  up  twigs  and 
dropping  them  into  the  water,  watching  the  circles  widen 
as  they  fell. 

"Why  did  you  do  it,  then?"  Elliot  asked. 

"  Because  papa  wanted  me  to,"  the  girl  replied. 

"That's  why  I  took  Rosalind,"  Elliot  said,  medita 
tively.  "  Her  papa,  not  mine.  He  likes  me."  Emphasis 
on  "he." 

"  So  does  Rosalind ;  Craig  says  she  does,"  Beth  said. 

"I'm  glad  she  does,  for  I  like  her,  and  Craig  ought 
to  know.  He  is  there  half  the  time,"  Elliot  said. 

"Maybe  he  likes  her  himself,"  Beth  suggested. 

"I  don't  think  he  does,  but  I  think  he  wants  me  to 
like  her.  He 's  a  magnanimous  dog." 

"And  you  accommodate  him?" 

"Yes,  but  not  in  the  way  he  wishes.  Rosalind  is  a 
charming  girl,  companionable  and  interesting  to  me  be 
cause  she  is  interested  in  my  work,"  Elliot  explained. 

"And  in  you?" 

Elliot  made  no  reply.  And  Beth's  heart  gave  a  great 
throb.  How  princely  he  seemed  this  glorious  afternoon, 
sure  of  himself  and  with  the  capacity  to  make  proud  and 
glad  the  heart  of  any  girl.  Of  all  the  children  who  had 
gone  nutting  together  that  October  day,  none  had 
changed  so  much  as  Elliot. 

They  talked  of  other  things  serious  and  light,  uncon- 


SPRING    WEATHER  261 

scious  of  the  passing  hours,  until  the  rays  of  the 
afternoon  sun  began  to  strike  horizontal  lines  into  the 
ravine. 

"Are  you  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  Beth?"  Elliot  asked. 

"No;  why  do  you  ask?"  Beth  replied. 

"  Because  we  may  not  have  another  such  an  afternoon 
together,  and  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  it,"  Elliot  said. 

"Why  did  you  think  I  would  want  to  hurry  home?" 
Beth's  voice  was  not  quite  natural. 

"  I  thought  Craig  might  be  coming  to-night " 

"  And  if  he  should  be  ?  "  Beth  interrupted  him. 

"Why,  he'll  have  to  wait.  Let's  go  up  the  Trail  to 
the  sheltering  rocks.  It  is  getting  warm  down  here,  and 
later  out  on  the  bluff  and  watch  the  sunset  over  the  val 
ley." 

"  And  let  Craig  wait  all  night?  "  the  girl  said,  demurely. 
"  But  won't  you  tell  me  why  it  may  be  the  last  afternoon 
that  we  may  have  together?" 

In  Beth's  deep  gray  eyes  there  was  an  earnestness  that 
the  young  man  could  not  quite  comprehend. 

"  Not  now,  Beth.    I  may  tell  you  later,"  he  said. 

The  gray  eyes  did  not  change,  and  Elliot  could  not 
know  how  swiftly  her  mind  formed  its  conclusion.  The 
picture  her  imagination  had  made  when  she  saw  Rosa 
lind  St.  Felix  bending  over  little  Joe  came  again  unbid 
den  as  before.  She  saw  down  the  long  years,  when  Elliot, 
a  successful  physician,  would  be  filling  a  large  place  in 
his  community.  Beloved,  even  famous  he  must  be,  with 
his  pretty  wife  Rosalind,  who  could  make  a  home  so 
homelike.  And  the  wealth  of  love  he  would  lavish  on 
his  wife.  What  a  treasure  to  covet !  Poor  Beth ! 

And  all  the  while  they  were  strolling  leisurely  along 
the  Trail  toward  the  cool,  winding  way  through  the  wood 
land. 


262  AWALLOFMEN 

"Don't  you  like  the  Hole  in  the  Rock,  Elliot?"  Beth 
asked. 

"  Yes,  I  do  now,  but  I  did  n't  until  to-day.  Some  day 
I'll  tell  you  why  I  changed  my  mind  about  it,"  Elliot 
answered. 

They  were  half  way  up  the  slope  in  the  sweet,  half- 
silent  wood.  A  broad,  flat  stone  beside  the  way  seemed 
to  invite  to  rest  awhile,  and  they  sat  down  upon  it. 
Overhead,  the  rock  shelves,  vine-draped,  made  a  pic 
turesque  setting  for  the  spot.  Down  the  Trail  the  after 
noon  sunlight  gleamed  golden  and  grand  on  the  open 
far  prairie.  Above  them,  the  same  clear  glory  crowned 
the  bluff.  Here  was  quiet,  and  cool  shadow,  and  dainty 
coloring  of  shrub  and  budding  tree;  and  all  the  sweet, 
woodsy  sounds  and  odors  of  Nature's  blessed  places  of 
peace  were  round  about  these  two,  and  they  were 
young,  and  it  was  the  Sabbath-day  of  a  radiant  spring 
time. 

Elliot  had  thrown  aside  his  hat  and  pushed  the  dark 
curls  from  his  white  brow  with  his  strong,  white  hand. 
Brow  and  hand  would  soon  be  brown  with  the  summer 
tan  of  outdoor  labor.  But  to-day,  he  was  every  inch  a 
gentleman.  Even  Craig  Penwin,  who  had  the  trick  of 
the  aristocrat,  would  not  have  excelled  this  young  stu 
dent-farmer,  this  frontier  settler  in  a  yet-to-be  conquered 
land. 

Beth  glanced  up  at  her  companion  as  he  sat  silently 
beside  her.  She  was  not  vain,  but  she  could  not  help 
wondering  wherein  the  charm  of  little  Rosalind  might 
lie  that  could  so  win  this  man  whose  affection  could 
bring  such  pride  to  any  woman's  soul. 

Beth  was  unconscious  of  her  own  winsome  grace  at 
that  moment.  Elliot  was  not  looking  at  her.  How  could 
she  know  whose  image  lay  back  of  those  eyes  looking 


SPRING    WEATHER  263 

out  steadily  at  the  Trail  winding  down  to  sunny  length 
of  waving  verdure. 

"Elizabeth,"  Elliot  turned  to  her  and  gently  called 
her  name.  "You  asked  me  why  this  may  be  our  last 
afternoon  together." 

"  Yes,"  Beth  said.  "  I  wondered  why.  But  I  had  no 
right  to  ask.  It  is  not  my  place  to  do  that." 

"It  is  your  place  to  ask  me  anything,"  and  Elliot 
smiled  on  her.  "  Do  you  remember  the  day  John  Brown 
told  us  we  should  have  ten  years  of  trouble?" 

"  Yes ;  are  they  beginning?  "    Beth  was  smiling  now. 

"  They  are  begun."    Elliot  was  graver,  but  not  sad. 

"I  saw  John  Brown  the  day  Mark  and  I  started  to 
Penwins'  together.  Mark  left  me  to  show  him  the  way 
to  Nethercotes'." 

"And. you  went  on  alone?" 

"  Why  not?  But  when  I  got  there  Tarleton  and  Lucy 
were  gone  to  Palmyra.  I  think  I  may  have  stopped  there 
ten  minutes." 

"  Ten  minutes?  "  Elliot  remembered  Colonel  Penwin's 
insinuating  words,  "  They  were  alone  for  hours  together," 
and  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  'm  glad  I  told  him  he  was  an 
infamous  liar." 

When  Beth  met  Elliot's  eyes  again,  she  forgot  there 
had  ever  been  a  Rosalind  St.  Felix.  He  had  folded  his 
hands  together,  and  with  gentle  tenderness  of  voice  and 
glance  he  was  saying : 

"This  may  be  our  last  afternoon;  I'll  tell  you  why, 
Beth.  Your  father  gives  me  every  reason  to  know  he 
does  not  like  me.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot  change  my 
self.  I  hope  he  may  change  his  mind.  I'll  not  try  to 
change  it  for  him.  But,  Beth," — his  face  was  illumined 
with  a  wonderful  light, —  "  whatever  may  happen  in  this 
ten  years  of  trouble,  one  thing  has  already  happened  to 


264  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

me.  I  have  learned  to  love  you,  my  darling,  and  in 
trouble  or  calm,  I  could  not  put  you  out  of  my  life.  I 
tell  you  this,  knowing  you  may  say  in  a  moment  more 
that  you  are  already  promised  away,  that  you  cannot  care 
for  me,  that  you  dare  not  slight  your  father's  wishes.  I 
want  you  to  know  it.  That 's  all." 

Beth  sat  very  still,  with  downcast  eyes.  She  could  not 
know  how  marvelously  fair  were  her  golden  hair  and 
round,  pink  cheeks,  nor  how  sweet  the  curve  of  her  full 
red  lips,  and  clear  and  firm  the  outline  of  her  chin,  and 
her  white  throat, —  a  woman  for  men  to  respect  and 
honor  as  well  as  to  love. 

Lifting  her  gray  eyes,  now  dark  and  luminous,  with 
the  love-light  of  youth's  happiest  hour,  she  said  no  word, 
for  words  seemed  lost  to  use  in  her  world  just  then. 

And  Elliot  understood.  He  opened  his  arms  to  her  and 
she  let  him  fold  her  close,  let  him  lift  her  face  and  kiss 
her  now,  and  toy  with  the  golden  hair  on  her  forehead. 
In  wonder,  she  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  timidly  she 
put  her  hand  on  his.  And  for  them  the  miracle  of  love's 
completeness  came  again  to  bless  the  world. 

The  sun  was  sinking  and  they  went  up  to  the  open 
bluff  and  sat  down  on  the  same  log  seat  of  the  October 
nutting  time. 

"  The  last  time  we  were  here,  Craig  was  with  us,"  Beth 
said,  as  she  remembered  the  day. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  you  here,  Craig  was  with  you. 
It  was  a  cold,  winter  day." 

"Were  you  on  the  white  horse  that  day?  What  won 
derful  eyes  you  have,  Elliot."  Beth  remembered  the  day 
that  she  and  Craig  had  looked  out  at  the  snow-draped 
earth. 

It  was  a  land  of  pure  delight  now,  with  the  April  sun 
set  splendor  filling  all  the  west  and  the  soft  green  and 


SPRING    WEATHER  265 

opal  and  purple  lines  of  evening  illumining  the  Vinland 
Valley. 

"  Beth,  my  loved  one,"  Elliot  said,  drawing  her  to  him, 
"  this  beautiful,  wonderful  region  will  be  threshed  with 
storms,  and  on  us  who  live  here  sorrow  and  care  and 
bitter  woes  may  fall.  But  we  shall  outlive  the  storms, 
we  shall  grow  strong  with  the  strength  of  overcoming. 
Only  let  us  be  true  to  each  other.  What  happens  then 
we  shall  meet  fearlessly.  We  can  wait  for  what  the 
years  are  to  bring.  But  never  more  shall  we  have  to 
wait  alone." 

He  undid  the  knot  of  the  pink  velvet  ribbon  that  held 
Beth's  locket,  and  in  its  place  he  fastened  a  daintily 
wrought  gold  chain. 

"  Some  day,  I  '11  put  a  locket  on  it  to  match  the  chain," 
he  said.  "  Wear  it  anyhow  for  me.  It  is  an  old,  old 
trinket  that  has  been  in  the  Darrow  family  for  years  and 
years." 

"May  I  give  you  this  locket  now?"  Beth  asked,  and 
opening  it,  her  own  sweet  face  smiled  out  at  them. "  Papa 
had  it  done  in  Philadelphia  last  spring.  Keep  it." 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  take  your  father's  gift,"  Elliot 
said. 

"  He  said  when  he  gave  it  to  me  that  I  might  give  it  to 
just  one  person,"  and  Beth  looked  down,  blushing.  "  The 
one  who  would  always  care  for  it.  You  will  care  for  it, 
won't  you?" 

"Always,  dearie." 

And  Beth  knew  in  full  measure  the  joy  that  she  had 
pictured  would  be  given  to  Rosalind  St.  Felix. 

The  sunset  slipped  away  and  the  twilight  of  the  rare 
evening  filled  the  valley  with  silvery  mist  and  purple 
shadow. 

"  Let  us  sing,  Elliot,  one  goodnight  song  before  we  go." 


266  AWALLOFMEN 

"Must  days  like  this  come  to  an  end?"  he  asked. 
"  Then  let  them  end  in  song,"  and  together  they  sang. 

It  was  the  Sabbath,  the  time  for  sacred  things,  and 
they  had  forgotten  that  the  world  held  any  other  soul 
than  theirs  in  that  holy  twilight  hour.  So  they  did  not 
note  the  coming,  the  waiting  beyond  the  evergreen  clump, 
and  the  passing  of  a  rider  on  a  red  roan  horse, —  a  splen 
did  military  figure  with  head  erect  and  fierce,  angry  eyes 
that  scowled  upon  the  two  unconscious  of  his  presence. 

Far  out  over  the  Vinland  Valley,  their  voices  floated 
in  the  old,  old  hymn  of  twilight  peace  and  beauty. 

Abide  with  me.    Fast  falls  the  eventide. 
The  darkness  deepens,  Lord,  with  me  abide. 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 
Oh  Thou  that  changest  not,  Abide  with  me. 

Then  together,  in  the  soft  evening  shadows,  they  went 
down  the  old  Trail  and  along  the  by-way  to  the  stone 
cabin  home  of  David  Lamond. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 
PRAIRIE    PIRATES 

Not  in  vain  a  heart  will  break 
Not  a  tear  for  Freedom's  sake 
Falls  unheeded:  God  is  true. 

—  Whittier. 

HOW  shall  chisel,  brush,  or  pen  record  a  story  first 
made  with  bullet,  sword,  and  fire-brand?  The 
spring  sunshine  breathed  out  its  blessing.  The  prairies 
smiled  serenely  in  their  happy  peacefulness.  Above  them 
swam  a  dreamy  haze.  Upon  their  broad  expanses  the 
untamed  beauty  of  the  wilderness  spread  itself  luxuri 
antly.  No  fierce  wild  beast  lay  in  waiting  to  kill;  no 
miasmal  marsh  polluted  the  air  with  its  fever  poison, 
and  no  savage  barbarian  race  hungered  to  destroy.  The 
Kansas  struggle  that  was  waged  in  that  fair  springtime 
—  waged  with  unparalleled  ferocity  on  the  one  hand,  and 
with  unbreakable  endurance  on  the  other  —  was  not  the 
old-time  struggle  for  existence  with  natural  foes.  Rather 
was  it  a  fight  for  a  National  ideal.  The  ideal  upon  which 
the  American  Colonies,  three-quarters  of  a  century  ago, 
had  founded  a  Constitution,  organized  a  Government,  and 
flung  to  the  winds  of  the  Western  Continent  its  symbol 
in  a  banner  of  red  and  white,  with  its  starry  field  of  blue. 
The  ideal  that  all  men  are  created  free. 

With  the  coming  of  spring  came  the  tide  of  immigra 
tion.  One  influx  was  from  the  Northern  States,  and  the 
hardships  for  the  newcomers  began  before  they  even  set 
foot  in  the  new  kingdom  of  the  West.  Missouri  became 

267 


268  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

a  savage  gantlet  to  every  opponent  of  human  slavery 
who  sought  to  reach  the  Kansas  Territory.  From  St. 
Louis  to  Westport  transportation  was  denied  or  obtained 
at  exorbitant  cost.  Baggage  was  damaged  or  destroyed, 
and  every  comfort  withheld,  not  only  from  men  who  were 
unaccustomed  to  hardships  themselves,  but  from  frail 
women  and  innocent  babes.  And  in  the  ears  of  these 
were  hourly  poured  the  threats  of  violence  to  come,  and 
the  utter  annihilation  of  all  Kansas  Free-State  settle 
ments.  And  yet  these  sturdy  people  came  hither  and 
began  to  fill  the  valleys  and  spread  out  westward  along 
the  billows  of  the  green  prairies. 

There  was  another  force  for  occupation  sweeping  in 
on  the  same  steamers,  along  the  same  trails,  and  on  to 
the  same  fertile  lands,  to  have  and  to  hold  them  for  its 
own.  Its  people  came  up  from  the  Southern  States,  some 
to  escape  from  slave-ridden  regions,  some  to  improve 
their  fortunes,  some  in  sincerity  to  make  homes  and 
widen  the  domain  of  Southern  ideas.  But  the  great  ma 
jority,  overshadowing  all  the  others  combined,  came  to 
seize  the  land  by  lawless  force  and  to  depopulate  it  by 
brute  ferocity.  These  things  are  history,  not  fiction. 

So,  to  the  beautiful  land,  with  its  rippling  waves  of 
verdure,  these  prairie  pirates  came  without  conscience, 
justice,  or  pity.  Nor  brush,  nor  pen,  nor  chisel  can  por 
tray  the  things  of  their  handiwork.  Nay,  even  the  full 
measure  of  it  cannot  be  comprehended  by  the  imagination 
in  this  day  of  peaceful  prosperity,  when  old  prejudices 
are  laid  aside  and  old  animosities  forgotten.  In  the 
springtime  of  that  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred 
fifty-six,  it  was  not  an  imaginary  condition,  but  a  terribly 
real  problem  that  faced  the  Kansas  people  and  called  for 
their  judgment,  courage,  endurance,  and  unwavering 
faith  in  God  Omnipotent. 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  269 

In  this  springtime,  the  Vinland  Valley  took  on  a  less 
lonely  but  no  less  lovely  countenance.  Palmyra  was  a 
Free-State  village,  and  along  the  Santa  Fe  Trail  east  and 
west  the  Free-State  folk  found  homestead  claims  to  their 
liking.  But  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  was  right  when 
he  assured  his  children  in  the  autumn  before  that 
Georgia  and  the  other  Southern  commonwealths  would 
soon  send  neighbors  of  the  Penwin  type  for  their 
association. 

On  the  morning  after  Colonel  Penwin  had  halted  his 
horse  behind  the  evergreen  clump  and  listened  to  Elliot 
and  Beth  singing  in  the  Sabbath  twilight,  he  came  radia- 
antly  before  his  family. 

"  I  have  good  news  for  all  of  us,"  he  declared.  "  Major 
Buford,  of  Alabama,  has  come  with  three  hundred  men 
from  Alabama  and  South  Carolina  and  Georgia.  They 
have  settled  one  camp  down  toward  the  southeast.  I 
expect  to  see  Buford  to-day.  I  told  you  six  months  ago 
we  would  soon  have  the  right  kind  of  people  here. 
You'll  not  be  lonely  and  need  those  trashy  Abolition 
young  folks  for  associates  much  longer." 

Lucy  and  Tarleton  looked  down  and  said  nothing, 
while  Craig  remarked,  indifferently: 

"I  saw  a  man  in  Palmyra  yesterday  who  said  Rox- 
bury,  of  Atlanta,  is  with  Buford." 

"The  man  who  wanted  to  marry  Aunt  Lucy?"  Lucy 
asked,  innocently. 

And  Tarley,  looking  at  his  sister,  added: 

"Our  Lucy  looks  nearer  like  auntie  every  day,  don't 
she,  papa?" 

He  was  too  young  to  note  the  gray  color  of  his  father's 
face,  although  he  did  miss  the  smile  he  wanted.  But  if 
he  was  too  young,  Craig  was  not.  And  Colonel  Penwin 
avoided  looking  at  his  eldest  son. 


270  AWALLOFMEN 

"  Let 's  not  talk  about  that,"  Lucy  said,  with  more  tact, 
and  then  the  meal  was  ended  in  silence. 

"  Craig,  I  want  to  see  you  a  minute,"  the  Colonel  said, 
when  the  family  had  separated. 

Craig  followed  his  father  out  of  doors  and  they  stood 
beside  the  cabin  for  a  few  minutes'  conference. 

"How  are  you  prospering  in  your  game?"  Colonel 
Penwin  asked,  jocosely. 

Craig's  face  flushed,  and  an  angry  light  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  not  a  game,  father ;  it  is  a  life  purpose  with  me 
now,"  he  answered,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  I  was  only  joking ;  but  I  can 
give  you  some  information  worth  having,  and  some 
advice  you  will  do  well  to  heed.  I  learned  its  wisdom 
by  harder  knocks.  You  must  be  sensible  and  take  it 
from  me." 

"Well?"  Craig  assented. 

"  First,  I  must  speak  of  some  other  things." 

There  was  an  undue  emphasis  on  the  word  must. 
"You  say  Roxbury  is  here?  Confound  him!  Craig,  he 
is  the  man  whom  I  wanted  to  be  rid  of  when  I  came  to 
Kansas." 

"He  is?  I  thought  he  was  in  love  with  Aunt  Lucy." 
Craig's  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  father's  face. 

Colonel  Penwin  was  ready  this  time  and  gave  no  sign 
of  emotion,  but  spoke  calmly. 

"  What  I  want  to  say  is  this :  You  are  to  know  nothing 
of  him  nor  his  dealings  with  our  family.  Do  not  let 
anybody  know  you  ever  heard  his  name  before.  Who 
told  you  about  him  up  at  Palmyra?  " 

"The  man  who  lives  in  that  little  cabin,  the  last  one 
on  the  Trail,  this  side  of  town.  It  was  nearly  hidden 
with  grass  in  the  Fall.  You  remember  it,  don't  you?" 

The  Colonel  did  remember  it,  and  he  added: 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  271 

"Roxbury's  agent,  Jack  Bobbs,  of  Atlanta,  owns  that 
place.  Who  lives  there?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Craig  replied,  "and  I  don't  care  to 
know  Roxbury  here,  either.  You  needn't  force  that  on 
me.  But,  Father,  every  time  I  am  in  Lawrence  I  see 
Roxbury's  Jupe." 

"Well,  see  him  if  you  want  to;  you  have  nothing  to 
do  with  him,"  and  Penwin,  off  his  guard  again,  found  his 
anger  showing  itself. 

"No,"  Craig  answered,  "but  I  wondered  if  Roxbury 
would  claim  him  here.  He  passes  for  a  free  man  in  Law 
rence." 

"  He  is  a  free  man,"  Penwin  fairly  shouted  the  words. 
"  Let  him  alone." 

"  All  right,  father ;  go  on,"  Craig  said,  composedly. 

The  Colonel  waited  long  enough  to  get  a  grip  on  him 
self,  then  he  said  quietly: 

"  Craig,  I  told  you  once  that  you  had  a  powerful  force 
to  combat  when  you  crossed  purposes  with  Elliot  Dar- 
row.  Now  I  know  it  ever  more  truly  than  I  did  then. 
And  I  know  further  that  you  cannot  outdo  him  by  coer 
cion.  Keep  still." 

Craig  had  opened  his  lips  to  protest. 

"  You  may  call  yourself  '  Craig  Penwin,  gentleman,' 
and  you  may  call  Elliot  Darrow  by  any  name  you  choose. 
It  will  not  change  matters  any.  And  if  you  are  wise,  you 
will  listen  to  me.  You  can  refuse  to  do  it  and  to  follow 
my  advice  if  you  want  to.  It  all  rests  with  you." 

In  spite  of  Craig's  pride,  he  could  not  fail  to  see  the 
father  still  pleading  for  a  son  in  Colonel  Penwin's  face, 
although  the  older  man  would  not  have  had  it  appear  so. 

"I'm  listening,"  Craig  said. 

"Then  remember  this:  You  will  win  what  you  want. 
But  you  must  do  it  by  stratagem  and  seeming  good-will. 


272  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Never  by  abuse.  It  won't  work.  You  must  lay  aside 
your  scruples  and  with  a  pleasing  front " 

"Stoop  to  deceit  and  trickery.  I've  already  begun," 
Craig  said,  bitterly. 

"Then  keep  it  up,  but  don't  frown, —  smile.  When  a 
young  man  gets  to  that  place  his  battle  has  been  far 
more  than  half  won." 

"  You  give  strange  advice  for  a  man  who  joins  himself 
to  Jeff  Buford  and  entangles  his  affairs  with  Jason  Rox- 
bury,  gambler,  of  Atlanta,  Georgia.  I  don't  wonder 
Aunt  Lucy  refused  him,"  and  Craig  turned  from  his 
father  and  went  into  the  house. 

A  little  later  Colonel  Penwin  was  on  the  bluff  over 
looking  Vinland  Valley,  where  by  appointment  he  was 
to  meet  Major  Buford,  who  awaited  him  there.  The  two 
took  in  the  view  of  the  prairie,  and  Penwin  noted  the 
increasing  number  of  claims  taken  even  since  the  first 
days  of  spring. 

"It's  all  an  Abolitionist  settlement,  Buford,"  Penwin 
declared.  "  And  they  are  striking  deep  roots.  You  can't 
pull  them  up  too  early." 

"  Mark  them  out  for  me,  Colonel,"  Buford  said,  as  his 
eyes  traveled  along  from  cabin  to  cabin. 

"  On  the  edge  of  the  ravine  up  stream  is  Coke  Wren, 
Yankee,  and  his  wife.  Only  two." 

Buford  made  note  of  this  in  his  book. 

"  Good.  They  will  do  to  start  with.  Our  fellows  fixed 
Brown  at  Leavenworth  with  hatchets.  See?"  The 
Colonel  nodded,  and  went  on. 

"Around  the  shoulder  of  the  bluff  on  a  crooked  trail 
is  Nethercote,  a  Michigan  man,  wife  and  baby.  Nether- 
cote  is  away  a  good  deal." 

"All  right,"  Buford  entered  the  name.  "One  of  my 
men  has  sworn  to  kill  an  Abolitionist  man,  if  he  can,  and 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  273 

if  he  can't,  he'll  kill  a  woman,  and  if  he  can't  do  that, 
he  '11  kill  a  child.  That 's  the  spirit  of  my  men,  sir." 

"  Up  on  the  hilltop  in  that  bunch  of  evergreens,  where 
a  little  tower  sticks  up  is  the  worst  of  the  valley,  a 
Quaker  from  Indiana.  Won't  fight  and  won't  run.  Don't 
smile ;  Hiram  Darrow  won't  run." 

"  All  the  better  sport  then,"  Buford  declared.  "  We  '11 
burn  him  out,  brand  his  wife  and  turn  out  the  little  chil 
dren  naked  to  find  their  way  to  Indiana." 

"  There  are  no  little  children,"  the  Colonel  hastened  to 
say.  "  But  put  in  the  blackest  letters  you  can  make  the 
name  of  Elliot  Darrow.  If  you  miss  everybody  else  to 
get  him,  do  it." 

"  It  shall  be  done,"  Major  Buford  said.  "Now,  whose 
place  is  that  hidden  by  the  timber?  I  see  a  smoke  over 
there?" 

He  pointed  toward  the  Lamond  homestead,  hidden  save 
for  the  rising  smoke  above  it.  At  the  same  moment  a 
powerful  man  riding  a  big  horse  came  toward  them  from 
the  east,  where  the  Trail  wound  through  the  woodland. 

"  Good  morning,  Roxbury.  Colonel  Penwin,"  Buford 
said. 

Roxbury  halted  beside  Buford,  but  offered  no  hand  to 
Penwin.  He  was  of  the  gambler  type,  with  marks  of- 
dissipation  written  on  his  face.  Buford  noticed  the  lack 
of  courtesy  and  growled  out : 

"  Oh,  Roxbury,  I  forgot  you  and  Penwin  had  had  a 
tiff.  Suppose  both  of  you  put  that  aside  till  we  clean  up 
Kansas.  After  the  spoils  are  divided,  you  '11  feel  so  good 
and  be  so  rich  you  won't  care  to  fuss  any  more.  Finish 
this  job  now." 

The  two  men  seemed  to  acquiesce,  and  Penwin  looked 
again  toward  Lamonds'." 

"That's  David  Lamond's,  a  Scotchman  of  the  Bruce 


274  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

and  Wallace  type.  Ought  to  have  been  shot  a  long  time 
ago.  But,  as  to  his  home,  you  '11  spare  that,  Buford,  for 
the  sake  of  his  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl.  You  hear  me? 
Whoever  touches  that  place  reckons  with  me,  on  account 
of  my  son,"  he  added,  as  he  caught  Roxbury's  eye. 

"Since  when  did  your  feelings  for  your  family  get  so 
tender,  Bonny  Penwin,"  Roxbury  asked,  disdainfully. 
"You  don't  need  money  as  bad  as  you  did  once,  I  sup 
pose.  When  you  were  losing  everything  in  the  gambling 
parlors  in  Atlanta,  you  would  have  pledged  your  grand 
mother,  or  your  wife,  or  —  your  sister." 

Roxbury  hissed  the  last  two  words  at  Penwin,  with 
venomous  scorn,  but  Buford  suddenly  burst  out  with  an 
oath  at  the  beginning  and  ending  of  his  speech. 

"You  two  let  each  other  alone,  or  I'll  list  you  both 
here.  If  you  think  there 's  anything  slack  about  Buford, 
of  Alabama,  you'll  change  what  little  minds  you  have 
left  when  I  'm  through.  I  Ve  set  this  Lamond  house  on 
the  right  side  of  the  page.  Now  go  on." 

And  the  Vinland  Valley,  with  this  one  exception,  was 
given  over  to  the  mercy  of  the  prairie  pirates.  As  Buford 
started  away,  Roxbury  said : 

"  I  '11  overtake  you  before  you  get  far." 

"All  right,  Roxbury,  but  don't  either  one  be  a  fool. 
There 's  bigger  concerns  than  any  old  grudge  you  've  got. 
Be  patriots,  and  stand  up  for  your  country."  And  he 
rode  away,  leaving  the  patriots  together. 

"Where  is  Jupe  now,  Penwin?"  Roxbury  asked. 

"  Who  told  you  he  was  here  ?  "  Penwin  inquired. 

"Jack  Bobbs,  when  he  came  home  last  November. 
Bobbs  settled  this  side  of  Palmyra,  you  know,  in  a  little 
grass-covered  box  of  a  cabin."  The  gambler  looked 
meaningly  at  Penwin,  as  he  said  this. 

"Have  you  sold  Jupe  again?"  he  asked,  insinuatingly. 


PRAIRIE     PIRATES  275 

"No,  sir,  Jupe  isn't  mine  to  sell.  He's  up  at  Law 
rence,  and  he  says  he's  a  free  man.  You  pledged  him 
back  to  me,  and  I  have  no  claim  on  him  now.  He 's  free. 
You'd  better  not  fool  with  him,  either.  He's  got  the 
strength  of  a  tiger  in  his  fist." 

"Where's  his  wife,  now?"  Roxbury  asked,  smoothly. 

"  She 's  dead.  Paid  the  penalty  of  a  crime."  Penwin's 
face  was  gray  as  it  had  been  that  day  when  he  watched 
the  bubbles  on  the  pool  of  the  Hole  in  the  Rock. 

"Whose  crime  was  it,  may  I  ask?"  Roxbury's  voice 
was  oily  in  its  softness. 

Boniface  Penwin  turned  upon  him  with  a  tigerish 
fierceness. 

"  You  heard  what  Major  Buford  said  to  us.  Wait  till 
we  settle  this  Territory.  Then  we  '11  settle  this  matter," 
and  with  a  horrible  oath,  he  turned  his  horse  to  the  Trail 
and  rode  madly  away. 

Buford  and  Roxbury,  pursuing  their  course  at  a  gal 
lop,  soon  overtook  a  group  of  a  dozen  men  on  the  Trail, 
leading  four  unmounted  horses  among  them.  They  were 
a  villainous  crew  to  look  upon,  a  rough,  sneering,  swag 
gering  bunch  of  dare-devils.  Most  of  them  were  young 
men,  large  of  frame,  dressed  in  coarse  clothes,  and  all 
armed  with  guns,  pistols,  and  bowie  knives. 

"There's  Jack  Bobbs;  count  on  him  to  raise  hell  and 
put  a  chunk  under  it,"  Roxbury  said  to  Major  Buford, 
as  the  two  reached  the  company. 

The  whisky  bottles  passed  from  one  coarse,  tobacco- 
stained  mouth  to  another,  with  boasting  and  swearing 
in  the  interludes. 

Jack  Bobbs  rode  alongside  Buford's  horse  for  a  word 
with  his  leader. 

"We  come  onto  two  new  settlers,  young  men  and 
their  families,  down  the  Trail  five  miles  back,"  he  said. 


276  AWALLOFMEN 

"The  men  said  they  was  on  their  way  to  their  claims 
west  a  little  distance.  'We  hope  you  are  Free-State 
men,'  I  said,  just  to  fool  them. 

"'That's  what  we  are,'  one  man  said,  and  the  other 
said  he'd  like  to  see  any  Pro-Slavery  man  try  to  stop 
him.  So  we  stopped  'em  both  right  then.  Two  of  the 
boys  burnt  their  wagons,  goods,  and  all.  We  took  their 
horses  and  told  the  women  to  walk  back  to  Massachu 
setts  quick.  There  was  two  babies  in  the  crowd,  and  one 
of  the  boys  suggested  they  could  drop  'em  into  the  Mis 
souri  River  if  they  was  heavy.  Said  they  'd  better  poison 
the  fishes  than  to  grow  any  more  Abolition  dogs  in  this 
Territory." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  brutal  recital.  Then 
with  oaths  and  foul  and  cruel  jests  the  rabble  pursued  its 
way  to  other  deeds  of  like  fiendishness.  For  Major 
Buford  had  come  hither  with  this  brutal  gang  to  drive 
out  or  assassinate  all  Free-State  men;  and  if  outraged, 
branded  women  and  naked  starving  children,  robbed  of 
husbands  and  fathers,  and  plundered  of  all  their  posses 
sions,  should  be  left  beside  the  smoking  embers  of  their 
cabin  houses,  it  mattered  nothing  to  him.  He  and  his 
kind  were  the  vicious  product  that  can  grow  only  in  a 
slave-accursed  land.  Such  a  land  these  men  had  sworn 
to  make  out  of  the  sun-kissed  prairies  of  the  virgin 
West.  And  this  fair  April  morning  saw  the  work  of 
their  hands  establishing  itself. 

"What's  the  next  number  on  the  program,  Bobbs?" 
Roxbury  asked  as  the  band  turned  up  a  narrow  path 
toward  a  bit  of  wood  beside  the  creek. 

"  Oh,  one  of  the  men  made  a  wager  this  morning  he  'd 
kill  a  Free-State  man  before  night.  There's  an  old  fel 
low  living  alone  up  here.  His  wife  died  —  froze  to  death, 
I  guess,  last  winter.  He's  sick  and  no  harm  to  nobody, 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  277 

but  he 's  a  bitter  anti.  We  '11  just  rid  the  country  of  him 
and  win  a  bet  beside." 

And  on  they  went.  At  the  door  of  the  cabin  a  white- 
haired,  thin-faced  man  sat  drinking  in  the  sunshine  and 
soft  morning  air. 

"If  this  weather  keeps  up,  I'll  be  working  in  my 
garden,"  he  was  saying  to  someone  who  was  moving 
about  inside  the  cabin. 

The  men  dashed  up  to  the  doorstep. 

"Are  you  a  Free-State  man?"  the  foremost  rider  thun 
dered  out. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  feeble  voice  came  without  a  quaver. 
Then  as  he  saw  the  quick  gleam  of  pistols,  he  cried  to 
the  one  inside,  "  Run,  Mark !  run ! " 

A  scream  of  agony  and  the  old  form  lay  in  a  quivering 
heap  on  the  step.  But  Mark  did  not  run.  He  never  could 
tell  why,  for  he  was  pallid  with  fear.  He  stood  up  over 
the  dying  man,  believing  his  time  had  come.  And  in 
that  moment,  the  daring  spirit  that  was  born  in  him 
asserted  itself. 

"  You  miserable  wild  beasts,  you  hyenas,  to  shoot  down 
a  helpless  old  man,"  he  cried. 

A  revolver  snapped  fruitlessly,  and  Bobbs  flung  up  his 
hand. 

"  Don't,  boys,  not  now,"  he  said.  "  That 's  that  Quaker, 
Darrow's  boy." 

"  But  they  are  all  to  go,"  Buford  interrupted. 

"  I  say  not  now,  Buford.    Listen  to  me." 

So  with  a  volley  of  bullets  all  about  him,  but  not  one 
aimed  at  him,  they  rode  away,  leaving  Mark  beside  the 
dying  man.  What  wonder  that  the  iron  entered  the  soul 
of  the  young  Quaker  boy  then  and  that,  daring,  impulsive, 
and  young,  in  that  hour  beside  the  martyred  dead,  he 
should  vow  to  give  his  life  in  battle  against  this  bloody 


278  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

force  that  knew  no  law,  save  the  blood-lust  of  unbridled 
ferocity. 

"What's  your  soft  dough  now,  Bobbs?"  Roxbury 
asked,  as  they  hit  the  main  Trail  again. 

"I  ain't  liftin'  no  hand  against  that  boy  so  long  as 
Bonny  Penwin  is  agin  him,"  Bobbs  replied,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Somebody '11  git  him  yit,  of  course,  but  him  and  his 
little  brother  rousted  me  out  of  my  cabin  this  side  of 
Palmyra  just  in  time  to  save  my  life  last  October.  They 
was  on  their  way  to  a  preachin'  up  to  the  hotel,  an'  they 
runs  in  like  two  boys,  an'  says,  easy  like,  '  Come,  go  to 
church  with  us.'  I  just  went  along  to  be  a  boy  for  a 
minute  again,  for  I  was  lonesome.  If  I'd  staid  in  that 
grass-hid  shanty,  I  'd  been  a  dead  man  that  day.  You  '11 
git  the  whole  bunch  of  Darrows;  you'll  have  to  sooner 
or  later,  for  you  can't  scare  'em,  and  they  ought  to  be 
got,  but  between  me  and  you,  Roxbury,  I  ain't  workin' 
to  pay  Bonny  Penwin's  debts  to  the  cause  of  slavery  by 
hittin'  folks  he  wants  hit." 

As  the  men  sped  on  their  way,  they  came  face  to  face 
with  Craig  Penwin,  whom  Buford  halted  with  the  query : 

"Who  are  you?" 

"My  name  is  Penwin,"  Craig  replied;  then,  with  infi 
nite  insolence  of  tone,  he  drawled,  "If  you  courageous 
heroes  who  murder  men  and  turn  out  women  and  chil 
dren  to  perish,  want  an  aim  for  your  bullets,  try  me.  I 
am  every  inch  a  Southerner" — how  proudly  he  sat  his 
horse  before  them!  —  "but  I'd  rather  kill  myself,  I'd 
rather  die  a  hundred  deaths  than  to  be  known  as  one  of 
you.  Now,  shoot,  if  you  dare." 

For  the  sake  of  the  girl  he  loved,  Craig  could  stoop  to 
trickery,  but  he  was  not  yet  a  coward. 

"  Oh,  he 's  Colonel  Penwin's  son,  saucy  and  daring,  but 
'  sound  on  the  goose.'  Let  him  alone,"  Jack  Bobbs  said. 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  279 

"  I  've  got  nothing  against  the  boy.  It 's  Bonny  Penwin 
I  'm  after,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone  to  Roxbury. 

Craig  passed  on  his  way  and  the  men  went  theirs,  land 
pirates,  filling  their  hours  with  deeds  of  lawlessness  and 
cruelty  of  which  this  morning's  work  was  typical. 

Mark  Darrow  walked  into  the  house  like  an  old  man 
when  he  came  home,  and  his  mother  read  his  face  with  a 
sinking  heart,  for  she  saw  that  he  had  passed  from  boy 
hood  into  manhood,  and  in  her  wisdom  she  knew  that  her 
second  son  would  act  with  a  man's  power,  but  with  the 
unripe  judgment  of  an  impulsive  boy. 

The  two  helpless  settlers'  wives  whom  Buford's  men 
bereft  of  all  save  their  little  children  found  their  way  to 
Coke  Wren's  cabin  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine. 

"Could  you  give  us  a  drink  of  water  and  some  food 
for  the  children?  "  they  asked,  in  piteous  tones,  afraid  lest 
another  blow  should  fall  on  them,  over-buffeted  now  with 
misery. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  Patty  cried.  "  Come  right  in  and 
tell  me  what  brought  you  here  without  no  men  folks." 

They  sat  down  on  the  cabin  doorstep  and  told  their 
heart-breaking  story.  To  Patty  the  story  of  brutal  acts 
had  become  so  common  that  she  had  thought  herself 
under  control.  And  yet  she  sniffled,  and  dabbed  at  her 
eyes,  and  shook  her  fists,  and  tried  by  all  available  means 
to  keep  from  breaking  down  entirely  at  the  recital  of 
bereavement  and  horror. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  she  said,  with  pretended  composure 
at  last.  "  You  come  right  into  this  cabin  and  stay  till  you 
git  your  souls  back  into  your  bodies,  what's  been  nigh 
wrenched  outen  of  'em.  Oh,  it's  big  enough  for  all  of 
us.  I've  always  lived  in  a  rubber  house  that'd  stretch 
itself  for  to  cover  the  poor  and  afflicted." 

Her  bright  little  black  eyes  were  shining  through  her 


280  AWALLOFMEN 

tears  as  she  brought  them  all,  two  women  and  two  little 
babies,  into  the  tiny  cabin.  "  You  can't  live  here  and  not 
learn  how  to  meet  most  anything." 

Homely  was  the  little  figure,  and  with  only  the  rudest 
of  frontier  necessities  about  her,  but  her  hard  little  hands 
were  deft  and  swift,  and  her  plain  face  wore  all  the 
beauty  a  loving  heart  and  an  irrepressible,  cheery  spirit 
can  give. 

"  Me  and  Cokey  ain't  got  nobody  but  our  two  selves," 
she  chirped,  as  she  soothed  her  stricken  guests.  "  An'  the 
Lord  just  favors  us  by  lettin'  us  help  where  we  can.  We 
didn't  git  beauty  ner  riches  to  our  share,  ner  no  special 
amount  of  book  knowledge.  Se  He  made  it  up  to  us  in 
givin'  us  friends  and  the  quality  of  endurin' — we  can 
live  on  bird-seed  ef  we  need  to, —  and  we  ain't  neither 
of  us  afraid  none.  An'  that's  a  blessin'  in  this  part  of 
His  footstool." 

The  next  afternoon  there  was  a  double  funeral  at  the 
Wren  claim,  and  two  young  men  who  thirty-six  hours 
before  had  been  full  of  life  and  hope  and  high  purposes 
lay  still  and  pallid  beside  the  cabin  door,  awaiting  their 
last  earthly  couch  deep  under  the  blossoming  prairie-sod. 
David  Lamond  read  the  Scripture  lesson  of  the  hour,  the 
ninetieth  Psalm.  Hiram  Darrow  offered  the  prayer,  deep, 
fervent,  tender,  ending  with  the  note  of  sublimest  victory : 

"Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do." 

And  Elliot  sang  for  the  two  widowed  ones  the  com 
forting  lines  of  that  sorrow-soothing  hymn: 

Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly. 

sang  in  a  voice  so  fraught  with  sympathy  and  tenderness 
that  even  the  stern-hearted  Scotchman  hid  his  eyes  to 
conceal  the  tears. 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  281 

Nobody  knew  just  how  it  happened  that  Beth  staid 
in  the  cabin  with  the  fatherless  little  ones,  while  the 
burial  was  made  a  mile  away,  nor  why  Elliot  was  left 
on  guard  there,  with  the  older  people  following  the 
mourners  to  the  last  rites.  Nobody,  unless  it  may  have 
been  Patty  Wren,  and  she  never  had  reasons  for  her 
doing,  more  than  the  birds.  One  of  the  children  was 
sleeping  sweetly,  and  Beth  was  rocking  the  other  baby 
and  singing  softly  to  it,  when  Doctor  St.  Felix  came 
swiftly  up  to  the  cabin.  Elliot  was  sitting  in  the  rear 
door,  looking  at  Beth,  who  in  her  zeal  to  quiet  the  little 
one  was  hardly  conscious  of  his  presence.  But  St.  Felix 
saw  the  whole  picture,  and  paused  a  moment  before  he 
spoke. 

"  Darrow,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet  tone.  "  Get  on  your 
horse  and  ride  to  Nethercotes'  as  fast  as  you  can.  I  '11  go 
after  Nethercote.  He's  at  the  burial,  I  suppose,"  and  he 
turned  away. 

Elliot  came  to  Beth's  chair. 

"Shall  I  leave  you  here  alone?"  he  asked,  gently, 
bending  over  her. 

She  looked  up  timidly. 

"Yes,  Elliot.    What  can  be  the  matter?" 

"I  don't  know."  Elliot  still  hesitated,  and  he  bent 
closer,  and  put  his  hand  caressingly  on  hers.  "  I  do  not 
want  to  leave  you." 

"I  am  not  afraid,  and  I  am  well.  Mrs.  Nethercote  is 
sick.  Go  to  their  cabin  and  see  what 's  wrong." 

Elliot  touched  her  golden  hair  reverently.  She  looked 
so  like  a  Madonna  with  the  sweet-faced  baby  nestling 
close  against  her  bosom.  A  thrill  of  joy  possessed  him 
as  he  thought  down  the  long  years  of  a  future  wherein 
Beth  should  be  his  household  angel,  the  light  of  his  fire 
side,  and  his  face  was  transfigured  as  he  turned  to  leave 


282  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

her.  Doctor  St.  Felix,  who  had  come  back  to  give  a 
word  to  Elliot,  saw  all  this.  There  was  a  strange  look  in 
his  black  eyes  as  he  turned  away  again,  and,  leaving  the 
word  unsaid,  he  hurried  on. 

With  all  speed  Elliot  made  his  way  to  the  Nethercote 
cabin,  hidden  around  the  shoulder  of  the  bluff  by  the 
crooked  trail.  It  may  have  been  the  thought  of  Beth 
that  clung  in  his  mind  as  he  hurried  along  that  made  the 
sight  that  met  his  gaze  more  terrible  to  him  as  he  rounded 
the  last  turn  in  the  trail  and  came  to  the  Nethercote 
homestead.  It  was  a  secluded  spot,  not  easy  to  find, 
tucked  away  in  the  shelter  of  low  bluffs,  shaded  with  low 
timber,  and  opening  toward  the  rocky  banks  of  a  little 
stream. 

It  had  seemed  a  romantic  place  to  Mrs.  Nethercote 
when  her  husband  had  first  showed  her  the  cabin  hidden 
among  the  burr  oak  and  elms.  But  the  frail  young 
mother  with  her  sickly  baby  had  found  the  frontier  a 
harsh  land,  redeemed  only  by  the  kindness  of  sympa 
thetic  neighbors,  who  lifted  many  burdens  for  her.  Her 
husband  had  gone  to-day  to  assist  these  neighbors  in 
the  double  funeral,  the  result  of  the  tragedy  of  the  morn 
ing  before.  He  did  not  tell  his  wife  of  the  event  for  fear 
of  exciting  her,  but  he  knew  men  were  needed,  not  for 
company,  but  for  service,  in  these  frontier  funerals,  and 
he  had  received  so  many  favors  from  these  neighbors  he 
would  at  least  help  them  to  lift  the  heavy  coffins  and 
shovel  the  earth  upon  them. 

Doctor  St.  Felix  was  responding  to  an  urgent  call  for 
his  services,  when  he  met  a  group  of  villainous  looking 
men  on  the  crooked  trail.  He  scented  trouble  in  their 
very  air,  and,  hurried  as  he  was,  courteously  asked  them 
a  question  or  two.  The  result  was  for  him  to  rush  to  the 
nearest  cabin  for  aid.  This  happened  to  be  Coke  Wren's. 


PRAIRIE    PIRATES  283 

When  Elliot,  on  little  Cotton  Mather,  rushed  up  the 
crooked  trail  into  sight  of  the  Nethercote  cabin,  the 
flames  were  bursting  from  the  roof,  while  rioting  in  scat 
tered  household  furniture  three  men  were  busily  search 
ing  for  valuable  loot.  A  fourth  was  in  the  act  of  driving 
a  cow  from  the  already  burning  stable.  And  the  fifth 
man?  The  picture  of  Beth  with  the  Madonna  look  in  her 
eyes  as  she  cuddled  the  baby  in  her  arms;  the  sacred 
beauty  of  the  thought  in  the  young  man's  mind  that  put 
a  halo  about  her  head  in  the  thinking;  the  joy  in  the 
memory  of  the  Sabbath-day  just  past  when  he  had  told 
her  of  his  love,  and  she  had  let  him  hold  her  in  his  arms 
and  give  her  a  lover's  kiss  —  with  all  these  —  the  fifth 
man? 

Mrs.  Nethercote,  speechless  with  terror,  with  her  un 
conscious  infant  in  her  arms,  was  struggling  in  the  foul 
embrace  of  the  fifth  man.  To  Elliot  Darrow  in  that 
moment  the  shock  was  more  terrible  than  the  sight  of 
deliberate  murder  would  have  been.  For  an  instant  he 
stood  motionless.  Then,  leaping  from  his  horse,  he 
bounded  toward  the  struggling  woman.  All  the  force  of 
the  moral  courage  that  through  a  long  line  of  Quaker 
ancestry  had  nerved  itself  to  resistance  of  evil,  to 
endurance  of  ridicule,  to  submission,  to  torture;  all  the 
unbreakable  power  of  will  and  tenacity  to  a  belief;  all 
the  heroism  that  faces  martyrdom,  but  will  not  yield  a 
hair's  breadth  for  conscience'  sake  — these  gathered 
now  in  physical  form  and  spent  themselves  in  the  blow 
of  Elliot  Darrow's  steel  fist.  It  fell  like  a  sledge  on  the 
head  of  the  lecherous  ruffian  holding  the  horror-stricken 
woman  clasping  her  dying  child.  The  villain  loosed  his 
hold  and  fell,  sprawling  and  unconscious,  in  the  midst 
of  his  plundering  confederates  a  dozen  feet  away. 

Mrs.  Nethercote  gave  Elliot  one  look  and  sank  fainting 


284  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

beside  her  lifeless  baby.  To  the  day  of  his  death,  Elliot 
Darrow  never  forgot  that  look.  Its  expression  was  on 
her  face  the  next  day,  although  her  eyes  were  closed 
then  to  open  no  more  on  scenes  of  earthly  strife  and 
rescue.  It  spoke  even  to  those  who  saw  her  then,  but 
to  none  others  as  to  the  young  Quaker  did  it  express  the 
joy  of  escape,  the  sudden  opening  of  heaven's  gates  to 
one  on  the  brink  of  destruction,  the  gratitude,  the  inex 
pressible  thankfulness,  the  peace  of  supreme  protection. 
One  long  gaze  and  the  young  wife  and  mother  sank  down 
unconscious. 

The  three  men,  bewildered  by  the  sudden  headlong 
plunge  of  their  comrade  upon  them,  staggered  to  their 
feet.  A  white-faced,  terrible  figure  towered  over  them. 
He  was  unarmed,  yet  by  that  mind  mastery  that  is  the 
conqueror's  surest  weapon,  in  his  utter  fearlessness,  he 
charged  upon  them,  as  if  the  strength  of  ten  men  were 
his.  And  it  must  have  been. 

"You  villains!  You  murderers!  You  unspeakable 
wretches!"  he  cried,  as  he  swooped  down  upon  them, 
dealing  out  blow  on  blow.  There  were  three  of  them, 
each  with  two  revolvers  that  he  knew  how  to  use,  and 
their  single  antagonist  was  a  Quaker  who  believed  in 
peace.  But  they  fell  back  before  him,  and  one  man 
shouted  wildly  for  Bill.  Bill,  who  had  been  firing  the 
stable  and  driving  off  the  cow,  had  disappeared  at  the 
first  noise.  He  was  the  same  man  who  had  fled  before 
Elizabeth  Lamond's  commanding  voice  on  that  winter 
morning  in  the  ravine  with  Patty  Wren. 

The  men  had  rallied  enough  to  seize  their  unconscious 
comrade  and  drag  him  toward  their  horses,  when  Neth- 
ercote  and  Coke  Wren  covered  the  last  turn  in  the  Trail. 
In  the  horror  of  the  time  Wren  and  Elliot  thought  only 
of  their  stricken  neighbor,  and  the  ruffians  plunged  down 


PRAIRIE     PIRATES  285 

the  creek  bank  and  hid  their  retreat  in  the  brush  of  the 
ravine. 

A  second  time  the  little  Wren  cabin  opened  its  door  to 
the  dead  and  the  bereaved  living. 

"  Better  here  'n  any  place  else,"  Patty  said,  consolingly. 
"  We  're  nearder  'n  anybody  else,  an'  Darrowses  took  one 
widow  an*  her  baby,  an*  Lamonds  took  't  other  till  they 
can  git  theirselfs  sorter  together  an'  begin  to  live.  It 
would  n't  do  for  them  women  to  be  with  this  now,  nohow. 
Them  prairie  pirates  may  make  this  a  land  of  terror.  But 
the  Good  Bein'  ain't  asleep.  An'  they'll  come  a  day  of 
vengeance.  Seems  to  me  it 's  most  due."  And  the  stout 
hearted  little  Yankee  clasped  her  hands  as  if  to  clutch 
her  patience  a  little  longer,  pending  the  coming  of  that 
day. 


CHAPTER    XIX 
THE    REIGN    OF    TERROR 

God's  ways  seem  dark,  but,  soon  or  late, 
They  touch  the  shining  hills  of  day; 
The  evil  cannot  brook  delay. 

The  good  can  well  afford  to  wait. 

—  Whittier. 

APRIL  was  slipping  on  toward  May.  With  the  ripen 
ing  of  the  season,  the  springtime  wore  a  lovelier 
grace.  And  through  all  these  gracious  days  the  work  of 
the  prairie  pirates  in  the  Vinland  Valley  was  the  coun 
terpart  of  the  history-making  in  the  lowlands  of  eastern 
Kansas,  upon  its  rugged  river  bluffs,  and  on  every  level 
plain;  and  the  hatred  and  ferocity  of  it  all  are  things 
incomprehensible  in  these  days  of  law  and  freedom  under 
a  blood-bought  flag  of  peace  and  power. 

Against  this  lawless  piracy  the  settlers  had  maintained 
only  a  position  of  self-defence  for  life  and  liberty,  and  a 
steadfast  adherence  to  the  principles  that  prompted  their 
home-making  in  Kansas.  True,  there  were  tricky  poli 
ticians  and  adventurers,  demagogs  and  outlaws,  who  in 
the  name  of  Free-State  partisanship  brought  dishonor 
and  disaster  to  a  cause  they  claimed  to  defend.  They 
are  among  "the  poor"  that  the  Scriptures  say  we  have 
always  with  us.  But  they  formed  only  a  tiny  per  cent 
of  the  Free-State  settlers  in  the  growing  villages  and 
scattered  rural  freeholds. 

The  first  quarter  of  the  year  of  1856  had  seen  a  strange 
and  atrocious  record  made  along  the  Missouri  River 

286 


THE    REIGN     OF    TERROR  287 

borders  and  inland  westward.  Men  tarred  and  feathered 
and  set  adrift  on  rafts  in  the  river,  men  chopped  in  the 
face  with  hatchets  and  left  to  perish  in  the  freezing  cold ; 
mutilated  men  flung  dying  into  their  homes,  whose  wives 
became  maniacs  from  the  sight  of  them;  houses  burned, 
with  all  clothing  and  bedding,  leaving  helpless  women 
and  naked  children  alone  on  the  cold,  desolate  prairie  in 
the  desolate  midnight  hour;  men  forced  to  flee  for  their 
lives,  and,  under  promise  of  protection,  cut  down  as  they 
ran  —  these  deeds  and  those  too  vile  to  set  on  record, 
unbelievable  now  for  their  demoniac  fiendishness,  are  a 
part  of  the  history-making  of  those  days  of  peril  and 
power.  For  power  went  with  this  criminal  horde  of 
prairie  pirates. 

And  the  Law  shook  hands  with  Crime. 

The  President  of  the  United  States,  the  military 
authority  at  Washington,  the  weak-willed  Governor  of 
Kansas,  the  civil  officers  of  the  Territory,  all  joined  hands 
with  the  prairie  pirates,  who  under  the  law  and  the  flag 
were  daily  enforcing  with  bullet,  sword,  and  fire-brand 
the  policy  of  Free-State  extermination. 

The  Missouri  River  was  blockaded  to  transportation. 
And  for  those  shut  in  the  Territory  proscribed  for  their 
fearless  declaration  of  opinion  or  their  determination  to 
maintain  their  common  rights, —  for  such  as  these  — 
God's  pity  on  them! 

For  their  own  defence  and  for  the  protection  of  their 
loved  ones ;  for  the  common  justice  and  common  welfare ; 
for  the  sake  of  freedom  and  the  flag  they  loved  and  hon 
ored;  and  for  that  nobler  principle,  world-wide  in  its 
scope,  the  principle  of  the  enfranchisement  of  human 
slavery  and  the  God-given  claim  to  life,  liberty,  and  the 


288  AWALLOFMEN 

pursuit  of  happiness  —  for  the  maintenance  of  these 
things  there  was  builded  up  in  these  days  a  wall  of  men 
on  Kansas  soil ;  men  who  were  defending  with  brain  and 
brawn  the  land  they  had  come  hither  to  preserve;  men 
who  were  welding  into  the  State  its  imperishable  ideals. 
Their  life  story  is  the  story  of  this  commonwealth,  and 
their  types  stand  in  these  pages.  With  the  political  acu 
men  of  Doctor  Robinson  and  Colonel  Lane,  conservative 
and  radical  elements  in  government,  were  those  forces 
typified  by  the  courage  of  John  Speer,  the  statesmanship 
of  Winthrop  Merriford,  the  loyalty  and  endurance  of 
David  Lamond,  and  the  scholarly  ideals  of  Hiram  Dar- 
row. 

Beyond  these  a  power,  not  yet  reckoned  with  in  this 
Maytime  of  sunny  days  and  shadow-darkened  deeds,  a 
force  undreamed  of  then  was  ripening  up  for  swift  and 
tremendous  action.  It  was  the  power  to  forecast  afar  the 
world-trend  of  events,  held  by  a  common-looking  settler 
on  the  Osawatomie,  John  Brown.  Buford  had  already 
made  his  boast  that  he  had  come  to  Kansas  to  clear  out 
the  Brown  settlement  and  to  shoot  the  Abolition  dogs  on 
sight,  and  John  Brown  had  taken  his  surveying  instru 
ments  and  run  a  line  through  Buford's  camp  in  order  to 
meet  him  and  to  find  what  manner  of  man  it  was  who 
had  come  hither  to  kill  the  Browns.  Unknown  to  Buford, 
John  Brown  walked  in  and  out  of  the  Southerners'  camp 
and  talked  to  its  commander  and  his  men  and  gathered 
their  purposes  against  him  first-hand. 

Such  were  the  men  in  this  wall  of  defence,  and  such  the 
odds  against  them.  And  the  days  of  the  reign  of  terror 
told  off  the  rosary  of  the  beautiful  springtime. 

In  April  Winthrop  Merriford  returned  to  Kansas. 

"  I  must  go  South  soon,"  he  told  his  wife.    "  Osborne 


THE     REIGN     OF    TERROR  289 

Junior,  of  the  firm  of,  Osborne  and  Osborne,  is  already 
there  doing  all  that  can  be  done  now." 

"Where's  Neil?  I  thought  it  was  Osborne,  Merriford 
and  Osborne,  with  Neil's  name  in  the  middle,"  Emily 
Merriford  said. 

"It  was  once,"  her  husband  replied.  "Neil's  name  is 
out  now." 

"Where  is  he?"    The  wife  looked  fondly  sympathetic. 

"He  is  lost,  Emily.  When  I  settle  things  here  and 
get  a  line  from  Osborne  Junior,  I  will  go  to  Atlanta." 

But  before  these  things  were  done  a  price  was  set  on 
Winthrop  Merriford's  head;  his  wife  and  children  had 
need  for  him  at  home,  while  Jupe,  big,  patient,  stupid 
Jupe,  so  far  broke  his  bonds  as  to  declare : 

"  Mars'r  Merriford,  'fore  you  're  ready  to  go  Souf,  I  '11 
be  so  near  a  free  man  I  kin  keep  you  all  here.  You  trus' 
me  an'  see." 

"How  does  your  name  happen  to  be  Roxbury,  Jupe?" 
Merriford  asked,  as  the  two  were  busy  putting  the  office 
in  order  after  the  lawyer's  return. 

"My  las'  Mars'r's  name,  sah,"  Jupe  replied.  "Er  — 
pretty  near  the  las'  one,  sah." 

"Why  not  use  the  last  one,  then?"  Merriford  asked. 

"  'Cause,  sah, —  I  ain't  breakin'  no  oath,  'cause  I  never 
swore  not  to  answer  ef  I  was  axed, — 'cause,  sah.  I 's 
so  'shamed  of  my  las'  mars'r,  I  don't  want  to  be  named 
after  him  ner  be  counted  no  kin  to  him.  He 's  a  disgrace 
to  me,  sah.  He  shore  is." 

"  There 's  a  Roxbury,  of  Atlanta,  grand  right  supporter 
of  this  Major  Buford,  south  of  here,"  the  lawyer  said, 
meditatively. 

"  Yes,  sah,  he 's  my  man.  He 's  my  Roxbury,  shore  he 
is,"  Jupe  declared. 


290  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  And  who  was  your  last  master?  Buford?  "  Merriford 
asked.  "  I  don't  blame  you  for  disowning  him." 

"  No,  sah ;  worse  'n  him,  worse  'n  him.  Hit  was  Colonel 
Boniface  Penwin,  sah." 

The  lawyer  gave  no  sign  of  surprise,  because  he  had 
schooled  himself  to  meet  surprises.  After  a  little  while 
he  asked: 

"Are  you  sure  you  don't  belong  to  him  now?  How 
did  you  get  your  freedom?" 

The  negro  was  fully  six  feet  and  three  inches  tall,  and 
his  evenly  distributed  weight  was  two  hundred  fifty 
pounds.  He  turned  on  Merriford  with  the  fierceness  of  a 
tiger  at  bay,  and  he  looked  like  a  giant. 

"Is  I  shore?  Is  I  shore?  'Fore  Almighty  God,  I  is 
shore.  Eternally  an'  everlastin',  shore.  He  gives  his 
word  ef  I  keep  still;  I  gives  my  word  ef  he  keeps  still. 
That's  my  bondage,  what  I  ain't  yet  free  from." 

"Are  you  sure  he'll  keep  his  word?  I'd  want  more 
than  a  promise  from  Penwin,  although  down  deep  he  has 
the  makings  of  a  gentleman." 

"  He  was  one  once,"  Jupe  said,  sadly.  "  Gamblin* 
undone  him,  root  an'  branch,  down  to  Roxbury's  in 
Atlanta.  He  done  sold  hisself  for  money.  He  did." 

"But  will  he  keep  his  promise  to  you?"  Merriford 
insisted. 

Jupe  was  the  tiger  again  at  the  words. 

"Will  he  keep  it?"  he  growled,  fiercely.  "You  watch 
him  everlastin'ly  keep  it.  He  not  breaken  that  one  oath. 
You  '11  see.  When  I  git  out  of  bondage,  I  won't  keepen 
no  word,  but  he  will." 

There  seemed  no  continuity  of  thought  in  Jupe's  mind, 
for  presently,  with  true  African  lightness  of  heart,  he 
said,  with  a  grin : 

"Golly!  golly!  Mars'r  Merriford,  hit's  a  good  day  to 


THE    REIGN     OF    TERROR  291 

go  fishin'."  Meditatively,  "Wonder  how  they'd  bite  in 
the  Kaw?"  And  as  an  afterthought,  "Ef  Coke  Wren 
comes  up,  tell  him  to  go  fishin'  where  I  done  told  him  to 
last  winter,  and  do  it  when  the  bitin'  's  good." 

The  biting  seemed  to  have  been  good  that  day,  at  least 
Coke  Wren  thought  so,  for,  with  a  day's  lull  in  the  Vin- 
land  Valley,  Coke  went  fishing. 

"I  do  believe,  Patty,  I'll  take  a  little  time  off  this 
afternoon,  ef  I  was  sure  we'd  not  have  to  turn  our 
cabin  into  a  morgue  again  'fore  night.  Seems  like  we  '11 
never  have  enough  clean  linen  to  cover  that  corner  no 
more."  Coke  pointed  to  the  darkest,  coolest  corner  of 
the  cabin,  as  if  it  were  a  shrine. 

Patty  looked  across,  reverently. 

"  Yes,  Cokey,  that 's  the  sacred  place  in  this  little 
home,  and  we  consecrate  it  to  our  martyred  dead.  Let 's 
be  thankful  we  had  a  place  to  shelter  them  martyrs  an' 
could  give  a  grain  of  comfort  to  them  pore  widows  an' 
Mr.  Nethercote." 

"I  am  thankful,  and  likewise  I'm  most  tuckered  out. 
I  '11  do  no  good  now  till  I  git  away  by  myself  an'  com 
mune  a  little,"  and  Coke's  eyes  glistened. 

"  Well,  go  fishin',  Cokey.  It  '11  do  your  heart  good  as 
well  as  both  our  stomachs.  I  wish  Beth  an'  Elliot  could 
come  over  an'  help  eat  your  ketch,"  Patty  said,  as  she 
hustled  about  the  cabin.  "  I  see  Elliot  and  Mark  going 
up  the  Trail  yesterday.  My,  but  them  two  boys  is 
broadened  out  an'  heightened  up  in  a  year's  time  in 
Kansas." 

Then,  as  Patty's  eye  fell  on  her  husband,  sitting  list 
lessly  in  the  doorway,  she  added,  "  Run  along  an'  do  your 
fishin'  while  the  bitin 's  good." 

And  Coke  obeyed. 

Sauntering  down  the  ravine,  thinking  of  the  events 


292  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

of  the  days  wherein  one  woe  not  only  did  tread  upon 
another's  heels,  but  woes  went  side  by  side  with  fellow 
woes,  Coke's  mind  ran  on  to  Winthrop  Merriford  and  to 
the  mystery  surrounding  his  son  Neil.  As  his  eye 
caught  sight  of  a  still  place  in  the  stream,  the  purpose  of 
his  errand  and  his  thought  seemed  to  overlap,  and  the 
little  Yankee  stood  still,  looking  at  the  quiet  water. 

"He  told  me  to  do  it  an'  I  forgot,  stupid,  biled  owl 
that  I  am.  The  Hole  in  the  Rock !  That 's  where  he  told 
me  to  go,  the  dumb,  grinnin'  Senegambian!  That's 
where  I '11  go  this  blessed  minute.  Fer  what?  Why,  fer 
fish,  of  course.  He  wrote  it  the  '  O '  in  the  Rock.  Well, 
a  '  O '  is  a  hole,  or  there 's  a  hole  in  a  '  O,'  an'  ef  it 's  the 
Rock  it  'mounts  to  the  same  thing." 

Coke  had  hardly  gotten  out  of  sight,  when  a  posse  of 
men,  led  by  Sheriff  Jones,  came  cutting  the  sod  of  the 
little  path  to  the  cabin  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine.  Patty 
saw  them  through  the  window,  and  her  heart  stood  still, 
for  she  saw  among  them  the  same  coward  Bill  who  had 
met  her  and  Beth  Lamond  in  the  ravine  near  Lawrence  on 
the  December  morning.  And  with  the  memory  of  that 
hour  came  the  picture  of  Mrs.  Nethercote  with  her  baby, 
now  in  the  newest  grave  of  the  growing  number  in  the 
prafrie  graveyard.  She  sprang  behind  the  door,  and, 
lifting  her  hands  in  prayer,  she  murmured,  quaintly : 

"  Dear  Lord,  ef  You  really  meant  it  when  You  said 
You'd  cover  us  with  Your  feathers,  and  under  Your 
wings  we  could  trust,  cover  me  now  what's  got  nary  other 
feather,  nor  Cokey  to  protect  me.  An'  ef  You  did  n't  mean 
it,  Lord,  make  me  a  first-class  martyr,  a  real,  first-class 
one,  what 's  not  afraid ! " 

Patty  stepped  to  the  open  door  and  in  her  face  was 
that  light  which  the  world  cannot  give  nor  take  away. 
Sheriff  Jones  was  in  front,  and  beyond  him  were  Buford, 


THE    REIGN     OF    TERROR  293 

Roxbury,  and  Colonel  Penwin,  with  Jack  Bobbs  and  a 
half  dozen  more  of  his  caste. 

"  Is  Coke  Wren  here  ?  "  Jones  asked,  gruffly. 

"  No,  ma'am !  I  mean,  no,  sir,"  Patty  replied,  meekly, 
smoothing  a  wrinkle  ironed  into  her  clean  apron.  "We 
ain't  sowed  nothin*  yet  but  our  garden  stuff  —  lettuce 
an' " 

"  I  said,  is  Coke  Wren  here?  "  Jones  repeated,  in  even  a 
harsher  tone. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir.  Excuse  me.  I  thought  you  was  askin' 
did  we  sow  grain  here.  I'm  a  little  deef.  We  hain't 
had  no  rain  here " 

A  third  time  the  question  was  put,  and  Patty,  under 
standing  now,  said  smilingly,  "  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Wren  ain't 
here.  Won't  you  come  in  and  wait  for  him?" 

Under  her  breath  she  murmured,  "  Oh,  Lord,  what  a 
bluffer  I  be!  Forgive  me,  Lord,  you  know  my  hearin' 
ain't  real  good." 

"Where  is  your  husband,  madam?"  Penwin  asked  in 
a  calm  voice,  and  Patty  heard  clearly,  for  she  answered, 
though  at  random,  "  He 's  gone  fishin'  down  to  the  Hole 
in  the  Rock." 

Patty  thought  she  was  lying  glibly.  Penwin  wheeled 
his  horse  suddenly. 

"  Come  on  and  get  the  others,  Jones ;  he  '11  keep.  We  '11 
see  him  later,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  And  for  one  as 
deaf  as  Patty  Wren,  his  words  were  quite  distinctly  com 
prehended. 

When  they  were  away,  scurrying  toward  the  main 
Trail,  Patty  stood  questioning  herself.  "  Shall  I  go  hunt 
for  Cokey?  No,  I  won't.  The  Good  Bein'  can  take  care 
of  him  ef  he 's  worth  carin'  for,  same  as  He  does  of  me, 
what  ain't  near  as  good  and  valuable  as  Cokey  is.  Men 
depends  a  little  too  much  on  the  women  an'  too  little  on 


294  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  Lord  here  in  Kansas,  sometimes.  After  this  day, 
Patty  Wren,  I'll  never  doubt  the  lovin'  grace  of  the 
Heavenly  Father,  an'  I'll  take  what  comes." 

Meanwhile,  Jones  and  his  party  rode  furiously  toward 
the  claim  of  David  Lamond.  In  the  woods  out  of  sight, 
Boniface  Penwin  halted. 

"  You  go  on  and  serve  your  writs,  Jones,"  he  said. 
"  I  '11  wait  for  you  here." 

Jones  would  have  protested,  but  Major  Buford  inter 
fered  with  oaths  that  Penwin  knew  his  business.  David 
Lamond  was  plowing  long,  clean  furrows  in  the  prairie 
sod,  watching  the  blossoms  he  must  turn  under  and 
thinking  of  Burns'  mountain  daisy  and  field  mouse,  when 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  group  of  armed  bullies, 
and  Sheriff  Jones  was  reading  his  writ  of  arrest  on  charge 
of  treason.  The  Scotchman  set  his  teeth  firmly  as  he 
listened  and  found  himself  a  prisoner. 

"  Jones,"  he  said,  when  the  reading  was  done,  "  by  what 
right  do  you  call  me  a  traitor  and  a  prisoner?  Where  is 
the  Wakarusa  treaty?" 

"It's  ended,  by ."  Jones'  profanity  was  too  vile 

to  set  down.  "  It  never  was  no  treaty  we  meant  to  keep. 
Soon  as  that  coward  of  a  Governor  Shannon  got  sober, 
he  repudiated  it.  These  writs  are  given  to  me  by  the 
Governor  himself.  Every  man  who  helped  to  get  Bran 
son  away  from  me,  and  every  tyrannical  dog  that 's  ever 
befriended  Lawrence  is  going  to  rot  in  jail  till  they  swing 
from  the  tree  nearest  to  the  jail.  Come  on." 

But  Lamond  stood  firm.  His  yellow  hair,  damp  from 
his  honest  toil,  and  his  sunny  beard  gleamed  in  the  west 
ern  light.  Something  about  him  may  have  looked  to  the 
group  of  ruffians  as  James  Fitz- James  appeared  to  the 
outlaw  Scots  on  Ben  Ledi's  mountainside,  but  Jones  was 
no  Roderick  Dhu. 


THE    REIGN     OF    TERROR          295 

"  You  dare  not  arrest  me,  Jones,"  the  Scotchman  said, 
firmly.  "You  have  no  right." 

"I  have  all  the  right  and  the  law.  The  Governor  of 
Kansas  and  the  military  power  at  Washington,  and  Presi 
dent  Pierce  are  all  back  of  me."  And  again  Sheriff  Jones 
swore  blasphemously.  "  Your  day  is  done.  Your  hours 
are  as  good  as  told  off  now.  We'll  teach  you  to  flaunt 
your  Free-State  notions  in  this  country,  you  vile  Abo 
lition  cur.  Go  on,  men,  tie  him  fast,  and  drag  him  along." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you  peaceably,  not  because  you  have  any 
right  under  heaven  to  take  me,  though,"  Lamond 
answered  back,  defiantly. 

"Tie  him  and  drag  him  along,"  again  the  order  was 
given.  But  Jones  had  not  reckoned  with  the  blood  of  a 
Scotchman.  Lamond  squared  his  shoulders  and  clinched 
his  brawny  fists.  Through  his  yellow  beard  his  white 
teeth  gleamed  dangerously. 

"I'll  go  with  you  peaceably,  I  told  you,  because 
you've  got  the  vile  pretense  called  law  and  the  power 
on  your  side.  But  I'll  not  be  bound  and  I'll  not  be 
dragged.  If  you  want  to  try  that  game,  come  on  and 
try  it  now." 

Nobody  wanted  to  try  it  just  then,  and  Bill,  the  coward 
of  the  pack,  slipping  from  his  own  lean  horse,  said: 

"Here,  Sheriff,  take  my  horse,  I'll  take  this  one." 

The  man  cut  Pluto's  traces  at  the  word,  and  David 
Lamond  saw  his  big  black  horse  stolen  before  his  eyes, 
and  he  was  powerless  to  protest. 

All  this  had  happened  out  of  sight  of  the  stone  home 
stead,  and  Mrs.  Lamond  and  Beth  were  unconscious  of 
the  impending  trouble. 

The  next  man  seized  as  a  traitor  was  Hiram  Darrow, 
and,  like  Lamond,  he  had  no  recourse  but  to  submit,  and 
no  opportunity  to  see  his  family  before  he  was  hurried 


296  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

away.  Along  with  other  leading  men  of  the  Territory, 
seized  by  other  posses,  the  two  were  carried  off  to  the 
Lecompton  jail,  to  await  the  force  of  legalized  brutality 
and  outlaw  vengeance. 

As  Jones  and  his  band  reached  the  bluff  overlooking 
the  Vinland  Valley,  they  met  Craig  Penwin  in  the  Trail. 
The  proud  young  aristocrat  would  have  passed  them 
quietly  by  had  he  not  caught  sight  of  Lamond's  Pluto, 
ridden  by  a  ruffian  whose  face  he  remembered,  and  in 
the  next  instant  he  saw  Lamond  himself  a  prisoner  be 
side  Hiram  Darrow.  The  horsemen  paused  on  the  brow 
of  the  bluff  while  Sheriff  Jones  and  Major  Buford 
together  took  the  census  of  the  settlement  proscribed 
for  destruction.  In  this  delay  Craig  walked  straight  to 
the  man  astride  the  black  horse. 

"Get  off  that  horse,"  he  commanded. 

"What's  the  row  here?"  Roxbury  growled  at  this 
impertinence. 

But  Buford,  turning  quickly  and  seeing  Boniface  Pen- 
win's  son,  said: 

"  All  right,  Roxbury.    Let  that  boy  alone." 

Roxbury  swore,  for  that  was  the  language  of  his  clan, 
but  Craig,  with  cool  indifference,  led  Pluto  toward  his 
master. 

"  Is  there  any  message  I  can  take  for  you  when  I  take 
this  horse  home?  "  he  asked,  with  that  courtesy  that  from 
a  younger  man  always  appeals  to  his  elders. 

David  Lamond  looked  with  gratitude  at  the  young 
Southerner. 

"  Thank  you,  Craig,"  he  said,  warmly.  "  Tell  mother 
not  to  worry  nor  be  afraid.  I  '11  soon  be  back,  I  'm  sure. 

And  tell  Beth "  He  hesitated.  Maybe  a  weight  of 

remorse  that  was  heavier  than  prisoner's  bonds  held  him 
back  a  little  before  he  spoke.  "Tell  Beth,  that  what- 


THE    REIGN     OF    TERROR          297 

ever  happens  to  me  until  I  see  her  again,  I  shall  hold 
her  to  her  promise.  She  will  understand." 

And  Craig  thought  he  also  understood.  The  crowd 
started  down  the  winding  hidden  way  of  the  Trail  toward 
the  open  slope  and  the  ravine,  while  Craig,  with  the 
big  shining  black  horse  hastened  toward  the  home  of 
Elizabeth  Lamond. 

Although  Hiram  Darrow  had  stood  beside  his  neigh 
bor,  Craig  had  offered  no  word  of  comfort  or  assistance 
to  him.  When  Lamond  noted  this  afterward,  Darrow 
said,  serenely: 

"It  is  no  matter.  Craig  Penwin  will  need  my  family 
more  than  they  will  ever  need  him." 

And  the  words,  forgotten  by  the  speaker,  rankled  in 
the  honest  Scotchman's  mind  for  many  hours. 

At  the  shadiest  bend  of  the  Trail,  Boniface  Penwin 
stood  beside  the  vine-draped  shelving  rock;  the  same  ro 
mantic,  picturesque  nook  where  on  a  golden  Sabbath  day 
the  heavens  had  opened  for  Beth  and  Elliot  and  showed 
them  love's  young  dream  made  real.  The  colonel  joined 
the  men  for  whom  he  had  been  waiting  in  hiding  here. 

"  Such  a  father  and  such  a  son,"  Lamond  thought,  as 
he  looked  at  the  colonel.  Then,  as  he  looked  at  Darrow, 
he  wondered  why  Craig  could  not  have  been  the  Quaker's 
boy  and  Elliot  born  a  Penwin.  It  would  have  suited  the 
Scotchman  better  so. 

Patty  Wren  had  a  wonderful  story  to  tell  when  her 
husband  came  trotting  home  from  his  fishing. 

"What  all  did  you  ketch,  Coke?"  she  asked,  when  she 
had  finished  her  tale. 

"Ketched  a  cold,  an*  a  touch  of  the  rheumatiz,  an* 
something  here,  I'll  show  you  later — ef  you're  a  good 
girl,  an*  say  '  please,' "  he  added,  grinning.  "  But  I  did  n't 


298  AWALLOFMEN 

git  ketched  myself  none,  so's  you  could  sense  it  about 
me.  I  was  down  at  the  Hole  in  the  Rock." 

"Is  they  real  fishin'  there,  or  did  I  jest  happen  to  hit 
the  truth,  accidental  providential?"  Patty  asked. 

"  Yes,  some  kinds,"  Wren  replied.  "  I  was  there,  any 
how,  right  by  the  Trail  crossin',  fishin',  when  the  look  of 
the  water  on  the  fur  side  ketched  my  eye.  I  took  my 
line  over  an'  set  it  there,  an'  with  a  stick  I  tried  the 
depth  where  the  water  by  the  edge  looked  different.  A 
little  shelf  sticks  out  about  a  foot  down,  an'  a  foot  or 
more  wide,  an'  then  the  whole  thing  drops  down  thirty 
feet  to  the  bottom.  It  was  on  this  shelf  I  was  feeling 
careful  with  my  stick.  It  had  a  limb  broke  off,  making 
a  kind  of  a  hook  on  the  end,  an'  I  felt  something  loose. 
I  raked  it  out.  It 's  in  the  bucket  here,  where  there  ain't 
no  fish.  I  '11  tell  you  why." 

Patty  restrained  her  curiosity  to  peep  in  the  bucket, 
and  Coke  continued: 

"I  was  just  goin'  to  punch  around  again  when  I  hear 
horses,  an'  swearin'.  You  know  what  that  means,  Patty 
Wren.  Down  the  Trail  Sheriff  Jones  comes  dashin'  with 
a  posse  of  men  an'  two  prisoners,  Hiram  Darrow,  an' 
David  Lamond.  I  slid  into  the  brush  back  of  the  pool 
quick,  as  I  heard  'em  cussin'  my  name  proper.  One  of 
them  they  call  Roxbury  says,  '  Let 's  stop  right  now  an' 
git  this  —  eighteen  er  twenty  dashes  —  Yankee,  an' 
we'll  have  all  of  that  Branson  crowd  from  this  corner.' 
I  know'd  then  they  'd  broke  the  Wakarusa  treaty  an'  was 
a  brandin'  us  for  treason." 

"But  they  didn't  git  you,  did  they,  Cokey?"  Patty 
asked,  anxiously. 

"  Do  I  look  like  I  was  on  my  way  to  Lecompton  to 
jail  with  a  posse  of  ruffians,  or  am  I  settin'  on  the  banks 


THE    REIGN     OF    TERROR          299 

of  the  Wakaroosy  eatin'  cocoanuts?"  Coke  asked,  with 
a  grin. 

"You're  playing  the  fool  much  as  the  Good  Bein"ll 
let  you,  wherever  you  are."  Patty  stroked  Coke's  hand 
gently  and  her  tone  was  more  affectionate  than  her 
words.  "  Thank  the  Lord,  they  did  n't  git  you.  How  'd 
you  keep  out  of  their  claws?" 

"I  laid  low  and  turned  green,  just  the  color  of  the 
bushes,  an'  Boniface  Penwin,  ridin'  next  the  Hole,  seemed 
to  ketch  sight  of  my  cork  bobbin'  in  the  water,  and  he 
just  hurries  the  whole  pack  on.  That's  how.  Now, 
let's  look  at  the  bucket." 

And  the  two  examined  Coke's  catch  intently.  The 
next  morning  Coke  and  catch  were  hurrying  toward 
Lawrence  with  all  speed.  But  Winthrop  Merriford, 
under  indictment  for  treason  against  the  laws  of  the  Ter 
ritory,  was  in  a  crowded  jail  in  Lecompton  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  lawless  wretches  and  high-minded 
gentlemen.  And  the  reign  of  terror  was  almost  to  its 
flood  tide  of  misrule  and  misery. 

Down  in  the  Vinland  Valley,  two  homes,  left  father 
less  for  the  time,  were  full  of  anxiety.  Craig  Penwin 
took  Lamond's  black  horse  to  its  stable  and  Lamond's 
messages  to  the  wife  and  daughter.  He  gave  them 
cordially  and  carefully,  but  he  let  Beth  know  how  far 
he  understood  her  father's  wishes  in  his  message  to 
her.  Then,  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  serve 
them  gladly,  if  they  would  permit  him,  he  left  them. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  through  Boniface  Penwin's 
household  that  the  Darrow  family  first  knew  of  the 
father's  forcible  seizure.  Lucy  and  Tarley,  almost  as 
defiant  in  these  days  as  Craig  himself,  had  decided  to 
visit  Joe.  Mark  was  such  a  man  now  that  Lucy  had 
lost  the  freedom  she  once  felt  with  him.  The  two  had 


300  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

come  out  on  the  bluff  in  time  to  see  Jones  and  his  pris 
oners  on  the  slope  between  the  wood  and  the  ravine,  and 
they  had  recognized  their  neighbors  with  their  father 
and  Buford,  whom  they  had  come  to  know  well.  Indig 
nant  and  grieving,  they  hurried  to  meet  Isabel  Darrow, 
and  tell  her  what  they  had  seen. 

The  April  day  was  ending  in  the  Vinland  Valley,  and 
all  the  gentle  voices  of  the  evening  were  calling  in  their 
soft,  insistent  tones  to  note  the  dewy  sweetness  of  the 
time.  The  peace  of  night  was  falling  over  all  the  land 
where  troubled  hearts,  and  lonely  hearthstones,  and 
anxious  fear  prevailed  in  bitter  contrast  to  the  wooing 
spirit  of  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  April  twilight. 

Beth  Lamond  came  to  the  little  stone  porch  and 
looked  wistfully  out  at  the  shadowy  prairies  and  the 
silver  scimitar  of  the  new  moon  gleaming  in  the  west 
ern  heavens.  Loneliness,  sorrow,  and  dread  filled  her 
young  soul  as  she  saw  the  beauty  about  her  that  she 
could  not  enjoy.  And  above  everything  else  was  there 
a  longing  in  her  heart  for  the  presence  of  her  lover. 

"And  I  have  promised  papa  that  I  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  Elliot  until  papa  has  had  time  to  talk  with  me. 
And  now  he  is  carried  away.  Dear  papa !  Dear  papa ! " 
Beth  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  tried  to  be 
brave,  but  her  heart  was  heavy. 

The  tender  young  leaves  on  the  vines  about  the  porch 
pillars  recalled  the  night  in  October  when  they  had  been 
waiting  the  autumn  frosts,  and  Elliot  had  kissed  her  here 
in  the  moonlight.  Why  should  she  want  so  much  to 
see  him  to-night,  when  he  must  not  come  to  her?  She 
looked  down  the  trail  winding  away  to  the  main  high 
way  hidden  by  the  wood.  In  the  gloaming  Elliot  Dar- 


THE     REIGN     OF    TERROR  301 

row  came  striding  along  the  path  with  step  as  firm  and 
free  as  if  no  weight  could  burden  him. 

"I  couldn't  stay  away,"  he  said,  as  Beth  sprang  for 
ward  to  meet  him. 

He  took  both  of  her  hands  in  his  and  held  them 
close,  while  he  looked  down  into  her  eager,  yet  sorrowful, 
face. 

"I  have  little  real  fear  for  our  fathers,  Beth.  They 
will  have  to  put  up  with  many  things ;  but,  Beth," —  and 
Elliot  gently  lifted  her  face  between  his  hands — "dear 
girl,  why  have  we  been  taught  all  these  years  to  say  the 
Twenty-third  Psalm,  if  in  the  days  of  strife  and  fear, 
goodness  and  mercy  are  not  going  to  follow  us?  My 
mother  never  seemed  so  wonderful  to  me  as  she  did 
to-night  at  supper,  when  she  read  the  Bible  to  us  boys. 
'Fret  not  thyself  because  of  evil-doers.'  That  was  the 
Psalm  she  read." 

How  strong  and  fearless  he  seemed !  How  sure  of  the 
future,  and  of  himself ! 

"But  Elliot,  I  must  tell  you  something,"  Beth  said, 
sadly. 

They  sat  down  together  on  the  stone  step,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  times,  the  loveliness  of  the  April  evening  was 
appealing  to  both.  Elliot  drew  Beth's  hand  through  his 
arm  and  held  it  there. 

"Tell  me  anything  you  want  to,  dearie,"  he  mur 
mured. 

Beth  needed  all  her  bravery  then. 

"Elliot,  I  told  papa  something." 

"  Yes,  I  meant  to  do  it  first,  but  no  matter." 

"But  it  does  matter."  Beth's  voice  faltered.  "Papa 
asked  me  last  night  as  we  sat  out  here  if  you  had  ever  — 

ever " 

"Yes,  Beth,  and  I  had,"  Elliot  helped  her,  smilingly. 


302  A     WALL     OF     MEN 

"Had  said  anything  you  oughtn't  say  to  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  the  young  Quaker 
began.  But  Beth  went  on: 

"  I  told  him  the  truth,  and  he  said  — "  The  golden 
head  was  bending  now,  and  the  gray  eyes  were  luminous 
with  tears.  Elliot  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  drew  her 
close  to  him. 

"  Yes,  dearie,"  he  said.  "  I  was  a  coward  and  a  sham 
of  a  man,  good  enough  to  look  at  if  nobody  else  was 
around,  but  without  the  stamina  a  young  man  in  the 
West  must  have " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  all  of  that,  Elliot.  But  I  promised  him, 
for  he  begged  me  to,  not  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  you  until  he  had  talked  with  me;  promised  him 
solemnly  and  faithfully." 

The  young  man  had  dropped  her  hand  and  sat  with 
folded  arms  looking  out  at  the  last  soft  light  playing 
in  from  the  west.  In  the  twilight  his  face  seemed  never 
so  strong  and  handsome  as  now. 

"Craig  Penwin  got  Pluto  away  from  the  gang  and 
brought  him  home,  and  papa  sent  me  word  by  Craig  that 
whatever  happens,  he  holds  me  to  my  promise  until 
he  sees  me  again;  my  promise  not  to  see  you  nor  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  you,"  Beth  said,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"When  does  that  court  convene  up  at  Lecompton  to 
try  those  traitors?"  Elliot  asked,  in  a  changed  voice. 

"  Don't  blame  me,  Elliot,"  Beth  said,  pleadingly. 

"I  couldn't  do  that,  dearie,"  Elliot  said,  gently,  but 
his  arms  were  still  folded  tightly.  "And  I  will  not 
make  you  unhappy  by  being  where  you  must  see  me 
unnecessarily,  and  so  embarrass  you." 

In  that  moment  Beth  would  have  broken  all  pledges 
to  her  father  for  the  sake  of  keeping  Elliot  near  her,  had 
he  asked  her  to  do  it.  But  he  did  not  ask  her. 


THE     REIGN     OF    TERROR  303 

"  Your  father  is  right.  He  wants  to  do  his  own  way, 
and  I  have  no  right  to  object.  I  give  up  all  claim  to 
you  here  and  now  until  you  and  your  father  understand 
each  other." 

There  was  a  clear  ring  in  his  voice  Beth  had  never 
heard  before,  and  the  vision  of  Rosalind  came  unbidden 
to  her  again  as  it  had  done  twice  already.  They  were 
standing  now  facing  each  other. 

"  But  one  thing  I  promise  you  here,"  Elliot  said,  firmly. 
"  I  shall  keep  as  far  from  you  as  the  limits  of  Kansas  will 
permit.  Your  father  up  at  the  Lecompton  jail  need 
not  fear  my  taking  any  advantage  of  his  absence.  I'll 
leave  you  as  free  as  if  I  had  never  known  you  " —  he  was 
looking  straight  at  her  with  a  wonderful  light  in  his 
dark  eyes  — "  until  the  moment  when  you  need  help  and 
protection.  I  shall  be  so  near  then  that  all  the  Lamonds 
of  the  clan,  through  all  the  generations,  could  not  pre 
vent  my  serving  you  if  you  need  me." 

Elizabeth  lifted  her  beautiful  face  to  his  and  her  eyes 
were  full  of  pleading. 

"  I  need  you  now,"  she  murmured.  And  Elliot  folded 
her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  close,  and  kissed  her  fore 
head,  and  softly  caressed  the  golden  hair  rippling  about 
it.  Then  he  gently  put  her  aside. 

"I'm  going  now,  and  I  also  shall  keep  my  word  to 
you,  as  you  must  to  your  father.  But,  Beth,  my  dear, 
dear  girl,"  he  said,  softly,  "  I  have  a  locket  still." 

"  And  I  have  the  chain.    Good-by." 

The  young  Quaker  walked  down  the  Trail  into  the 
gathering  darkness.  The  fair  Scotch  lassie  watched  him 
till  the  shadows  enveloped  him.  And,  for  two  young 
pioneers  at  least,  the  reign  of  terror  in  Kansas  was 
checkered  through  with  a  steadfast  beautiful  faith. 

Elliot  did  not  loiter  on  his  homeward  way,  but  took 


304  AWALLOFMEN 

the  straight  line  across  the  prairie  toward  the  dark  point 
against  the  eastern  sky  that  he  knew  was  Mark's  Dar- 
rarat.  As  he  passed  into  the  draw,  where  he  had  found 
the  Indian  blanket  on  the  night  of  Branson's  rescue,  he 
stopped  long  enough  to  look  again  under  the  little  rock 
shelf  where  he  had  thrust  it. 

"I  had  forgotten  ever  to  hunt  for  the  rest  of  that 
Indian's  wardrobe,"  he  thought.  "  What  a  busy  life  we 
are  leading  here!  I  suppose  that  blanket  rotted  in  the 
snows  last  winter." 

The  clear  starlight  revealed  the  little  black  shadow 
cast  by  the  stone  outcrop,  and  beside  it  a  low  mound  of 
earth  showed  the  outline  of  an  unmarked  grave.  The 
spring  grasses  were  growing  on  it,  so  it  could  not  have 
been  made  since  the  snows  melted.  And  Elliot  wondered 
sadly  what  name  was  lost  under  that  little  heap  of  prairie 
soil. 

The  next  night,  a  bullet  out  of  the  dark  wounded 
Sheriff  Jones  seriously,  but  not  dangerously.  At  once 
the  Lawrence  men,  whom  Jones  would  have  driven  out 
by  all  violence,  denounced  and  hunted  for  the  man  who 
had  fired  upon  their  enemy.  So  strong  as  yet  was  the 
conservative  policy  of  non-resistance! 

But  Jones'  party  claimed  now  excuse  for  the  maddest 
frenzy.  From  every  hilltop  they  blared  the  news  that 
Kansas  was  in  control  of  bloody  Abolitionist  assassins. 
Their  cry  reached  to  the  Atlantic  seaboard  and  all  the 
crimes  of  their  own  commission,  the  loot,  and  burning, 
and  outrage,  and  murder,  they  blazoned  on  banners  and 
charged  them  all  to  the  men  who  had  endured,  and  re 
sisted,  only  to  defend  their  lives  and  their  sacred  right 
to  freedom  of  belief.  Again  the  forces,  who  came  with 
swords,  but  never  with  plowshares,  swept  into  Kansas, 
and  the  deluge  of  fire  and  slaughter  reached  the  crest 
of  its  flood  tide  and  hung  there. 


CHAPTER    XX 
"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE" 

Lawrence,  the  city  where  the  plunderer  feasted  at  the  hos 
pitable  table,  and,  Judas-like,  went  out  to  betray  it,  will  come 
forth  from  its  early  burial  clothed  with  yet  more  exceeding 
beauty.  Out  of  its  charred  and  blood-stained  ruins,  where  the 
flag  of  rapine  floated,  will  spring  the  high  walls  and  strong 
parapets  of  freedom. 

—  Sara  T.  D.  Robinson,  1856. 

MAY  came  in  its  appointed  time.  In  Kansas,  the 
month  of  wild-roses,  and  odorous  verbenas;  the 
month  of  deep  blue  skies,  and  snowy-white,  silken-soft 
cumulous  clouds ;  the  month  of  balmy  air,  of  golden  noon 
tides,  and  crystal-clear,  star-gemmed  nights;  the  month 
of  bird's  song  and  sweet- voiced  zephyrs;  the  month  of 
growing  things  —  the  mother-month  of  all  exquisite 
loveliness. 

Amid  all  this  beauty,  the  Kansas  prairies  fainted  under 
the  hoof-beats  of  war  steeds  on  the  springing  sod.  The 
deep  stain  upon  the  wayside  shamed  the  dainty  hue  of  the 
wild-rose.  The  smell  of  putrid  decay  overcame  the  per 
fume  of  the  verbena.  Against  the  blue  dome  by  day,  the 
smoke  of  burning  pioneer  homes  poured  up  black  and 
ugly,  and  the  crystal  skies  of  evening  were  lighted  by 
the  torches  of  a  plundering  band.  The  song  of  the  birds 
was  drowned  by  the  scream  of  terror  or  wail  of  anguish, 
and  where  growing  grain  should  have  been  storing  up 
food  for  coming  harvests,  untilled  furrows  gave  culture 
only  to  the  idle  weeds.  With  the  perspective  of  half  a 

305 


306  A   WALL   OF   MEN 

century  turned  on  those  lays,  the  story  of  their  peril 
and  power  seems  only  as  a  tale  that  is  told. 

In  the  "prairie  bastile"  at  Lecompton  the  leaders  of 
Free  State  settlement  languished  through  all  this  glo 
rious  Maytime.  Some  were  in  log  prisons,  crowded, 
filthy,  and,  by  the  words  and  deeds  of  their  cruel  jailors, 
made  unspeakably  vile.  Some  were  held  in  guarded 
tents,  damp  and  cold  at  night,  hot  and  uncomfortable 
by  day.  And  everywhere,  by  day  and  by  night,  drunken 
ness,  blasphemy,  brutality,  threats,  jeers,  and  the  flaunt 
ing  of  unjust  and  a  seemingly  unbreakable  power  made 
strong  men  sick  at  heart.  For  men  who  had  been  guilty 
of  no  crime  save  the  crime  of  humanity,  men  who  in  all 
civil  law  were  citizens  of  that  sterling  worth  that  makes 
a  state  invincible,  such  men  were  held  at  Lecompton  on 
charge  of  treason,  and  were  in  all  ways  given  the  traitor's 
courtesy;  while  Lawrence  and  the  larger  settlements, 
robbed  now  of  their  leading  minds,  were  left  to  such 
mercy  as  these  prairie  pirates  possessed. 

Every  day  of  their  imprisonment  David  Lamond's 
regard  for  Hiram  Darrow  grew.  The  Quaker  was  gentle 
with  a  modesty  that  made  him  appear  timid.  Yet  over 
and  over  in  the  days  of  waiting  for  their  trial  in  court, 
when  fighting  men  were  broken  in  spirit  and  ready  to 
submit,  Darrow  was  serenely  patient.  In  the  presence 
of  danger  he  was  utterly  fearless,  and  he  exercised  the 
right  to  say  what  he  chose,  whenever  it  pleased  him  to 
do  it.  Lamond  himself  was  not  cowardly  nor  despond 
ent,  and  Darrow's  comradeship  was  a  joy  to  him. 

Yet  the  resentment  against  the  Quaker's  son  did  not 
lessen  in  the  Scotchman's  heart  with  this  growing  friend 
ship  for  the  father,  because  he  was  a  man  of  such  firm 
convictions  that  he  hated  to  reverse  himself  in  his  own 
judgments.  Also  he  did  not  go  far  enough  back  to  find 


"LETTING    IN     THE    JUNGLE"      307 

out  that  the  real  beginning  of  his  resentment  was  with 
the  discovery  that  some  day  the  daughter  whom  he  idol 
ized  would  share  her  love  with  someone  other  than  her 
father.  He  did  not  realize  that  his  resentment  would 
have  been  the  same  at  first  toward  any  other  young  man. 
And,  having  once  made  up  his  mind,  the  same  tenacity 
that  held  him  loyal  to  the  flag  of  his  country  held  him 
set  in  the  declaration  that  Elliot  Darrow  was  a  weak, 
good-looking,  smooth-spoken,  cowardly  young  man, 
lacking  that  glorious  courage  that  made  a  man  a  hero 
to  a  follower  of  Wallace  and  Bruce.  With  this  close 
companionship  with  Hiram  Darrow,  David  Lamond  saw 
daily  how  the  same  gentle  but  unbreakable  spirit  of  the 
father  was  reflected  in  the  son,  and  he  resented  it.  That 
was  all.  And  without  his  blessing  Beth  should  never 
marry  anybody.  That  settled  things. 

And  Elliot?  He  kept  his  word  to  Beth,  that  she  might 
keep  hers  to  her  father  more  easily.  He  knew  the 
strength  of  her  mind  too  well  to  believe  she  would  be 
untrue  to  her  promise  to  her  father. 

"It  is  an  accidental  thing  that  she  must  wait  and  I 
must  wait,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  But  it  will  come  out 
right  after  a  while." 

He  schooled  himself  to  patience  by  hard  work,  and 
even  then  he  found  his  battle  a  fierce  one.  For  love  and 
youth  are  tyrannical  in  their  demands. 

Craig  Penwin  came  and  went  with  a  freedom  that  was 
galling  to  the  young  Quaker  exiled  a  field  away,  and 
Craig  would  have  been  jubilant  had  he  known  how  much 
his  coming  did  to  lighten  the  hours  for  Beth. 

With  Coke  Wren,  Elliot  and  Mark  worked  on  the 
Lamond  claim,  as  well  as  on  their  own,  helping  to  keep 
the  spring  crops  growing  for  their  neighbor;  and  they 
had  little  time  for  resting. 


308  AWALLOFMEN 

The  trails  were  unsafe  for  travel  now,  and  only  as 
Craig  accompanied  her  did  Beth  venture  far  from  home. 

As  Elliot  followed  the  plow  down  the  long  furrow 
one  afternoon,  he  saw  the  two  starting  away  together 
down  the  path  to  the  highway. 

"  If  they  walk  at  that  pace,  I  '11  meet  them  at  the  end 
of  the  corn  row,"  he  thought.  "  I  can  plow  her  father's 
corn  —  why  can't  I  speak  to  her,  at  least?  I'll  stop  in 
the  shade  of  that  cottonwood  tree  and  wait  for  them." 

He  was  hungering  for  one  look  from  her  gray  eyes, 
and  he  told  himself  he  was  not  jealous  of  Craig.  But 
the  two  quickened  their  pace  and  were  out  of  range 
before  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  field.  Elliot  stopped 
his  plow  by  the  cottonwood  long  enough  to  look  after 
them.  His  eyes  were  keener  than  most  eyes  are,  and  he 
saw,  even  so  far  away,  all  the  little  tricks  by  which  Craig 
was  making  the  hour  pleasant  for  his  companion,  con 
scious  the  while  that  a  sturdy  plowman  was  watching 
him.  How  could  he  know  that  Beth's  heart  was  as 
hungry  as  his  own  for  one  look  from  those  wonderful 
dark  eyes,  and  one  smile,  so  cordial  and  happy  always? 

When  the  two  came  back,  late  in  the  afternoon,  there 
was  a  buggy  under  the  cottonwood  tree,  and  Rosalind 
St.  Felix,  in  a  pretty  pink  gingham  dress  and  white  chip 
hat,  was  chatting  with  the  tall  young  plowman.  Her 
dark  face  was  radiant,  and  Elliot  was  smiling  down  upon 
her  as  they  talked  together.  Dr.  St.  Felix  came  from 
the  stone  cabin  as  Craig  and  Beth  approached,  and  Elliot, 
with  a  nod  to  the  two,  and  without  seeming  to  see  Beth 
directly,  smiled  a  goodby  upon  the  dainty  little  lady 
in  the  buggy  and  strode  along  the  up-furrow  after 
Pluto. 

"  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Darrow  about  some  analyses  I  'm 
writing  out  for  him,  and  he  wasn't  at  home,  so  I  came 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"      309 

on  here,"  Rosalind  explained.  "Isn't  it  grand  of  him 
to  do  your  father's  work?" 

"Did  he  say  he  thought  it  was  grand?"  Craig  asked. 
He  had  seen  the  longing  look  on  Beth's  face,  and  he 
was  bitterly  jealous  and  off  his  guard. 

"Elliot?  Oh,  no.  When  I  said  as  much  to  him,  he 
laughed,  and  said  he  owned  this  field  —  that  it  was  Mr. 
Wren  who  was  doing  Mr.  Lamond's  work.  But  I  knew 
better.  I  can  tell  when  he  is  telling  me  a  story." 

"I  wish  I  could,"  Beth  thought. 

And  Craig,  still  angry  at  the  world,  exclaimed,  but 
smoothly  now,  "Why  shouldn't  he  plow?  It's  his  line 
of  work.  He  won't  let  the  niggers  do  it.  It's  their 
work  or  his."  And  Craig  looked  so  like  a  gentleman 
one  could  scarcely  resent  his  sentiments. 

But  Beth,  looking  up-field,  heard  a  sweet  voice  singing 
soft  and  clear,  like  the  low  notes  of  a  bird's  song: 

I  also  dreamt,  which  pleased  me  most, 
That  you  loved  me  still  the  same. 

And  Craig  could  not  have  told  what  she  thought. 

That  night  the  proscription  in  the  Vinland  Valley 
was  executed,  and  when  the  sun  rose  on  the  next  morn 
ing  every  Free  State  man's  house  was  in  ashes,  save  the 
log  house  on  the  hill,  among  the  evergreens,  and  the 
cabin  that  sheltered  Elizabeth  Lamond. 

The  blow  fell  hardest  upon  the  Wrens. 

"'Cause  we  stand  most  anything,"  Patty  explained 
afterward. 

Early  in  the  evening,  a  writ  of  treason  was  executed 
on  the  Yankee,  and  the  ninety-pound  little  man  was 
rushed  off  as  a  dangerous  enemy  to  the  State. 

"  Compliment  to  Cokey,"  Patty  declared.    "  Treatin'  a 


310  AWALLOFMEN 

little  sparrer-hawk  like  he  was  big  as  a  anacondor  of 
South  America,  '  the  largest  bird  that  flies,'  the  joggerfy 
used  to  say.  '  Measurin'  sometimes  four  feet  from  tip  to 
tip.'  Coke  don't  measure  but  five  feet  three  from  beak 
to  feet,  an*  he 's  got  no  more  width  'n  a  sword-fish." 

Patty  proved  her  right  to  live  in  the  West  that  night, 
if  proof  were  needed.  Sorrowful  and  anxious,  but  hoping 
still,  she  had  cuddled  down  at  a  late  hour,  alone  in  her 
cabin.  She  had  just  fallen  asleep  when  she  was  wakened 
with  a  start.  A  voice  seemed  to  whisper,  "Wake  up, 
quick !  Wake  up,  quick ! "  She  sat  up  and  stared  about. 
Something  slipped  out  of  the  back  door  like  a  dog  and 
was  gone.  Voices  and  horses'  feet  she  could  hear  coming 
nearer,  and  presently,  amid  much  swearing  and  drunken 
laughter,  the  words : 

"Burn  the  cabin!  Drive  out  the  woman  and  shoot 
her!" 

"That's  me!"  Patty  could  think  quickly.  "I  ain't 
goin'  to  be  shot  at,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  driv.  Where 's 
that  thorny  locus'  tree?  I  '11  take  a  piller  this  time. 

She  was  groping  in  the  dark  for  the  little  box  of 
precious  keepsakes  they  kept  ready  for  such  an  emer 
gency  as  this.  Then  with  her  heavy  woolen  shawl  she 
grasped  a  fat  feather  pillow  and  out  of  the  back  door  she 
flew.  As  the  ruffians  with  much  noise  were  bursting  in 
the  front  door  the  little  Yankee  was  scudding  up  the 
ravine  to  where  a  thick  little  locust  grew  half-way  down 
its  side. 

"  You  dear  little  nest,"  Patty  said,  deftly  keeping  the 
shawl  as  a  shield  from  its  unwelcoming  thorns.  "I 
brought  up  a  piller  to  set  on  this  time.  It's  my  annual 
roostin*  spree  here.  Now,  you  wicked  old  heathen,  burn 
away !  There  '11  be  trees  growin'  here  to  make  beautiful 
homes  when  you  yourselves  are  only  ashes  alongside  your 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"      311 

old  firebrands.  You  may  burn  up  their  houses,  but  you 
can't  burn  up  the  spirit  of  Kansas.  You  may  set  your 
fires  to  destroy  Freedom  an'  Liberty,  but  the  blood  an' 
tears  of  martyrs  puts  out  your  fires  until  the  time  comes 
when  they  ain't  no  more  hands  dares  light  a  burnin* 
brand  against  'em,  and  in  peace  and  beauty  they  stand 
eternal.  An'  in  that  Kansas  I'm  goin'  to  be  livin',  if  I 
have  to  roost  for  a  dozen  years.  It's  lots  comfortabler 
this  year.  I've  got  a  piller  to  set  on.  Next  year  I'll 
bring  my  knittin' ! 

"  Hard  to  make  that  chimney  go,  hain't  it  ?  Never  did 
draw  very  well.  I  see  now  how  it's  built  wrong.  I'll 
tell  Cokey  not  to  put  such  a  deep  throat  in  the  next  one. 
Live  an'  learn.  Them  rascals  is  doin'  me  a  real  favor." 

So  Patty  philosophized  as  she  watched  her  burning 
cabin,  safe  herself  from  flame  or  sight  of  her  enemies. 

That  which  wakened  Patty  so  easily  —  for  she  slept 
like  a  bird,  with  one  eye  open  —  had  a  harder  time  at 
the  Darrow  home.  The  boys,  wearied  from  working  all 
day  in  the  fields,  slept  like  dead  men,  and  Isabel  was 
always  a  sound  sleeper.  From  door  to  window,  and 
from  window  to  door,  a  form  crept,  rapping  softly  but 
insistently,  until  at  length,  stopping  at  the  corner  of  the 
house,  it  suddenly  climbed  swiftly  to  the  roof  by  the 
log  angle,  and  down  through  the  Darrarat  it  dived 
inside.  A  minute  later,  Elliot,  shaken  wide  awake,  saw 
White  Turkey  bending  over  him.  He  had  no  time  to 
shake  off  the  deadness  that  sound  sleep  hangs  on  mind 
and  muscle,  for  the  Indian  pulled  him  out  of  bed  with 
vim. 

"Get  up  quick.  Buford's  men  come;  burn  cabin; 
get  up!" 

Elliot  grasped  the  situation,  and  the  household  roused 
itself  for  action.  When  the  crowd  of  midnight  raiders 


312  AWALLOFMEN 

reached  the  Darrow  home,  Boniface  Penwin,  who  hitherto 
had  shown  them  the  way,  left  them. 

"  Whatever  you  do,  get  the  biggest  one  there.  Don't 
let  him  escape."  This  had  been  his  urgent  command. 

The  men  were  very  drunk  now  and  had  no  mind  to 
let  anybody  escape  as  they  came  in  a  mad  gallop  to  the 
evergreen  -  sheltered  cabin.  White  Turkey,  who  was 
armed,  wanted  to  open  fire  at  once,  but  Elliot  held  him 
back. 

"No,  White  Turkey,"  he  said;  "we'll  defend,  not 
attack." 

And  the  Indian,  muttering  something  about  "  Heap 
big  fool,"  obeyed. 

As  the  crowd  reached  the  house  and  leaped  from  their 
horses,  the  door  suddenly  opened,  with  a  cry  of  "  Halt ! " 
And  Elliot  stood  outlined  in  the  gloom.  At  the  same 
moment  a  gun-barrel  in  the  hands  of  White  Turkey 
gleamed  in  the  dim  light. 

The  men  fell  back  a  pace,  and  one  of  them  shouted 
drunkenly,  "We've  come  to  burn  your  house  and  kill 
the  biggest  one,  and  we're  goin'  to  do  it.  Go  ahead." 

There  were  six  of  them,  the  same  half-dozen  that  Elliot 
had  met  at  the  Nethercote  home.  Mark  and  the  Indian 
were  out  now.  Three  against  six!  But  the  three  were 
sober  and  the  six  were  drunk.  Before  they  had  time  to 
go  ahead,  the  three  were  upon  them.  Bill,  the  coward, 
seized  his  horse  and  escaped.  But  the  suddenness  of 
this  resistance,  where  they  had  expected  only  pleadings 
for  mercy,  so  surprised  them  that  a  hand-to-hand  battle 
was  on  before  they  knew  it. 

A  stroke  from  Elliot's  fist  sent  his  first  assailant  stag 
gering  out  of  the  line,  and  three  contended  with  three, 
blow  against  blow.  The  men  were  all-round  fighters, 
although  they  were  handier  with  their  firearms  than 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"     313 

with  their  fists,  and  they  had  the  stimulus  that  whisky 
puts  into  the  nerves  for  the  time.  But  they  lacked  the 
cleverness  of  clear  brains,  and  they  were  not  fighting  for 
a  home  and  a  mother's  life  and  honor. 

The  Darrow  boys,  good  Quakers  that  they  were,  struck 
out  with  all  the  skill  and  agility  of  youth,  and  their  blows 
had  the  steel  spring  behind  them  that  gave  them  terrific 
force.  They  fought,  too,  as  young  men,  more  daring 
and  fearless  than  older  men  would  have  done.  They  did 
not  lose  self-control  for  a  minute,  and  back  of  everything 
else  was  their  sense  of  their  right  to  fight  and  their 
willingness  to  struggle  to  the  last  for  their  beautiful 
Quaker  mother,  their  little  brother,  and  the  home  that 
was  theirs  to  defend.  So  they  wrestled  with  the  strength 
of  heroes,  never  doubting  that  they  could  win. 

The  Indian  fought  like  an  Indian,  with  his  gun  for  a 
club,  and  White  Turkey  was  a  terror  in  his  anger.  He 
beat  off  the  man  against  him  and  managed  to  club  back 
both  his  own  assailants  and  the  one  whom  Elliot  had 
thrown  out  at  first.  But  two  were  all  he  could  care  for, 
and  the  boys  had  to  decide  their  own  conflicts. 

As  the  sixth  man  rushed  upon  the  others  struggling 
together  in  the  dark,  a  strong  hand  caught  his  arm,  —  a 
woman's  hand,  —  but  he  never  knew  that.  It  clung  with 
a  grip  of  steel,  and  in  his  effort  to  shake  himself  free  he 
plunged  headlong  into  the  nagging,  unfriendly  evergreen 
branches  and  fell.  Before  he  was  free  the  struggle  was 
over,  and  the  men  who  came  to  burn  and  to  kill  the 
"  biggest  one  "  were  on  their  horses  again,  plunging  into 
the  night. 

"Battle  of  Darrow  Hill!  Enemy  repulsed  with  great 
slaughter!"  Mark  began.  But  Elliot  was  not  jubilant. 

"  Come,  White  Turkey ;  we  must  run  across  the  prairie 
to  Lamond's,"  he  said. 


314  AWALLOFMEN 

"  Me  not."    The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"Why  not?"  Elliot  asked. 

"  No  need.  Penwin  say  every  house,  —  one,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  —  burn.  Stone  house,  six,  not  burn." 

"  Lamond's  is  the  only  stone  house.  He  spares  that. 
I  know  why,"  Elliot  said.  "  But  Penwin  is  n't  with  that 
crew,  and  they  are  drunk.  They  failed  here.  They  might 
go  there.  Come  on." 

So,  against  the  Indian's  judgment,  they  hurried  with  all 
speed  toward  the  Lamond  home.  And  there  was  need 
for  speed.  The  coward  of  the  pack  rode  away  to  Buford's 
camp.  The  man  whom  White  Turkey  had  clubbed  back 
was  sobered  and  knew  when  he  had  had  enough.  But 
the  other  four  were  furious  over  the  repulse  on  the  hill. 

"We  was  to  do  five;  come  on!  There's  the  stone 
house  left,"  the  leader  argued. 

"  We  was  to  let  that  alone,"  one  of  the  men  objected. 
He  had  already  almost  scratched  out  both  his  eyes  in  the 
snarly  cedars,  and  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  scratch  them  in 
again. 

"We  was  to  git  five;  we've  only  got  four,"  the  first 
insisted. 

The  result  of  much  parleying  was  that  three  rode  on 
to  Lamond's  and  three  straggled  off  toward  their  camp. 

In  the  dead  hour  of  the  night,  Mrs.  Lamond  and  her 
daughter  were  wakened  by  shouts  and  blows  upon  the 
door.  A  glare  filled  the  place,  and  in  its  blinding  light  a 
black  horse  ran  by  as  only  a  frightened  horse  can  run. 

"They  are  burning  the  stable,  mother.  There  goes 
Pluto,"  Beth  said. 

A  volley  of  bullets  struck  the  stone  walls,  and  the 
command,  "  Come  out !  Come  out ! "  was  repeated. 

"There  are  three  of  them;   I  can  see  their  shadows," 


"LETTING    IN     THE    JUNGLE"      315 

and  Beth  and  her  mother  crouched  into  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  room. 

Another  burst  of  blasphemy,  and  then  came  a  shout 
louder  than  their  vile  words,  and  the  voice  Beth  knew. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother.  There  is  Elliot!"  Beth  cried. 
"  He  said  he  would  come  when  we  needed  him." 

Outside  a  second  battle  was  on.  This  time  it  was 
Elliot  who  had  two  assailants,  while  one  of  the  men 
whom  the  Indian  had  held  back  before  was  ready  for 
him  now.  Again  the  Quaker  fought,  this  time  for  the 
girl  he  loved.  His  muscles  played  like  magic,  for  now 
the  tiger  in  him  was  aroused  and  he  fought  to  kill,  and 
knew  he  could  do  it.  This  battle  was  a  fierce  one,  waged 
in  the  glare  of  the  burning  buildings,  silently,  swiftly, 
revengefully.  The  men  were  beyond  the  window  by  the 
stone  porch  now,  and  Beth  with  terrified  eyes  saw  Elliot 
in  all  the  strife.  Even  as  her  heart  stood  still  with  fear, 
she  thought  of  her  father,  who  had  called  the  boy  a 
pretty  cowardly  weakling,  looking  out  for  his  own  safety 
first. 

The  strife  was  over  soon.  A  terrific  blow  sent  one  big 
fellow  limp  and  groping  toward  his  horse.  A  second  like 
it,  and  the  other  one  was  begging  for  mercy.  In  another 
minute  the  midnight  raiders  were  glad  of  the  chance  to 
get  away. 

Elliot  would  have  stopped  outside  the  door,  but  Mrs. 
Lamond  pulled  him  in  to  where  in  the  dim  light  she  and 
her  daughter  stood  trembling  in  the  gloom. 

"I  knew  you  needed  me,  or  I  would  not  have  come, 
and  I  promised  you  I  'd  do  that,"  Elliot  said. 

In  the  dark  Beth  gently  guided  his  hand  to  where  his 
fingers  just  touched  the  little  chain  at  her  throat  —  a 
touch,  and  she  dropped  the  hand  quickly.  He  stooped 
and  whispered  low: 


316  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Some  battles  are  harder  to  fight  than  these  midnight 
skirmishes  with  Buford's  men.  I'm  a  bigger  coward 
than  I  thought  I  was." 

As  the  two  men  crossed  the  shallow  draw  on  their  way 
to  the  Darrow  cabin,  Elliot  remembered  the  blanket  and 
the  grave. 

"Say,  White  Turkey,  who  do  you  suppose  is  buried 
there?"  he  asked. 

"Me  not  suppose,  me  know,"  White  Turkey  replied. 

"You  do?  How  did  you  find  out?"  Elliot  asked,  in 
surprise. 

"  Me  put  him  there,"  the  Indian  said  sternly.  "  Me 
help  do  it.  Shut  up." 

And  Elliot  said  no  more,  for  he  knew  when  White 
Turkey  had  reached  his  limit  of  speech. 

There  was  but  one  purpose  back  of  all  the  events  of 
these  May  days  and  nights:  to  strangle  the  spirit  of 
Freedom  in  the  West,  that  an  empire  founded  on  human 
slavery  should  grow  strong  and  rich  and  cruelly  tyran 
nous  upon  the  fertile  Kansas  prairies.  Hence  all  this 
pillage,  and  burning,  and  midnight  assassination,  and 
treason  charges  that  crammed  the  jails  of  Leavenworth 
and  Lecompton,  and  the  widespread,  untrue  alarms  to 
the  effect  that  the  Free  State  folk  were  in  rebellion, 
demanding  large  bodies  of  soldiers  to  subdue.  And 
constantly  as  from  the  beginning  came  the  cry  that 
Lawrence  must  be  destroyed! 

By  the  middle  of  May  the  countryside  was  terrorized. 
Homes  were  in  ashes.  Crops  were  untilled,  blood-stained 
tragedies  had  broken  families,  and  most  of  the  leading 
men  were  imprisoned.  Then  the  blow  fell. 

Along  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail,  and  up  the  Wakarusa 
Valley,  and  across  the  broken  country  north  of  the  Kaw 
River,  came  bands  of  brutal-looking  horsemen,  scurrying 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"      317 

from  the  border  at  command  of  sheriff  and  governor, 
and  because  they  lusted  for  these  things  themselves. 
Large  of  frame  these  men  were,  with  coarse,  unshaven 
faces,  and  savage  looks,  and  blasphemous  words.  They 
wore  red  flannel  shirts  and  big  boots  outside  their 
trousers.  They  carried  rifles,  and  revolvers,  and  bowie- 
knives,  and  cutlasses;  and  to  them  human  life  was  as 
cheap  as  the  wastes  of  sand  along  the  low  borders  of  the 
muddy  Missouri  River. 

Lawrence  must  be  destroyed! 

To  these  men  and  kindred  souls  under  Buford  and 
Roxbury,  the  work  was  entrusted. 

Why  must  a  city  be  destroyed  against  which  no  sin 
could  be  charged  in  all  the  catalog  of  civil  and  military 
sins?  In  the  historical  record  the  declaration  is  fixed 
for  all  generations  to  read.  Its  command  was  that  the 
arms  of  the  Lawrence  citizens  must  be  given  up,  and 
that  complete  destruction  must  fall  upon  the  Eldridge 
House,  as  a  rallying  place  for  Free  State  citizens,  and 
owned  by  Free  State  proprietors;  together  with  Free 
State  printing  presses,  because  they  spoke  for  Freedom. 
And  in  the  same  historical  record  —  for  history  is  piti 
lessly  cold  to  the  shame  the  after  years  would  hide  —  in 
the  same  record  is  the  reason  Governor  Shannon  gave 
for  consenting  to  what  he  could  have  prevented. 

He  said,  "Because  the  South  Carolinians  will  not  be 
satisfied." 

And  to  satisfy  these  South  Carolinians  he  held  the 
coats  for  the  stoning  of  the  martyr  town. 

The  morning  dawned  brilliantly  clear  and  beautiful. 
Down  in  the  Vinland  Valley  the  May  sunshine  poured 
out  its  radiance  equally  on  green  prairie  grasses  and 
dark  leafy  woodland,  and  on  scattered  household  belong 
ings,  and  smoldering  heaps  of  ashes  that  last  evening 


318  AWALLOFMEN 

were  sheltering  homesteads.  Up  on  Mount  Oread,  above 
Lawrence,  hordes  of  men  were  marshalled.  They  carried 
government  arms  and  authority,  with  or  without  oppo 
sition,  to  destroy  the  doomed  town.  Their  portraits  will 
never  adorn  a  hall  of  fame,  and  their  acts  that  day  leave 
a  trail  of  black  slime  oozing  after  their  names  in  per 
petual  disgrace  down  all  the  years  that  follow.  But  on 
this  day  they  had  "their  little  hour  of  strut  and  rave," 
and  there  was  much  hurrying  of  steeds  to  and  fro; 
much  priming  of  muskets  and  clanking  of  sabres;  and 
threats,  and  maledictions;  much  instruction  to  show  no 
quarter  to  resistance ;  much  talk  of  gallantry  to  the  ladies, 
unless  they  should  have  arms.  In  that  event,  to  trample 
them  down  like  snakes. 

The  sweet  breezes  of  the  May  morning  played  about 
the  brow  of  Mount  Oread.  The  songbirds  sang  never 
more  joyously,  and  the  perfume  of  May  blossoms  filled 
the  air;  while  far  away  to  the  horizon's  bound  on  every 
side  the  landscape  unrolled  in  a  grandeur  no  artist  will 
ever  copy.  From  the  lips  of  the  mongrel  company  came 
blasphemy  and  ribald  songs;  and,  black  with  smoke  of 
powder,  the  cannon  frowned  like  a  living  part  of  the 
thing  that  day  to  be  wrought  out.  Governor  Robinson's 
home,  a  sacred  possession  in  law,  was  seized  for  a  head 
quarters  for  the  leaders.  And  the  hours  sped  along. 

Down  in  Lawrence,  under  the  shadow  of  all  this 
bravery,  quiet  reigned.  The  men  who  would  have  mar 
shalled  forces  for  defence  were  hemmed  in  at  Lecomp- 
ton.  Men  who  would  have  followed  leaders  were  in 
hiding  for  their  lives  or,  in  anger  and  disgust,  had  left 
the  town,  or,  having  no  other  recourse,  were  attending 
to  their  own  affairs.  Firearms,  their  own  property,  were 
hidden  safely  away.  The  cannon  brought  in  during  the 
Wakarusa  War  was  buried  underground.  No  intention 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"      319 

of  resistance  existed,  for  everybody  knew  that  resistance 
was  hopeless.  Forty-eight  hours  before,  murder  most 
foul  had  fallen  upon  two  young  men  almost  within  sight 
of  town.  No  charge  of  crime,  no  moment's  warning, 
martyred  in  the  bloom  of  young  manhood  as  the  Christ 
crucified  upon  the  cross  —  because  they  believed  in 
human  liberty.  Nobody  in  Lawrence  could  forecast 
how  many  more  victims  the  day  would  ask  of  them, 
since  no  man's  life  was  safe. 

And  yet,  amid  all  these  things,  there  was  no  fear  in 
the  little  town,  because  the  men  who  came  to  Kansas 
in  those  days  for  Freedom's  sake  left  fear  behind  them. 

"All  quiet  in  Lawrence,"  the  runners  reported  to  the 
five  hundred  men  on  Mount  Oread,  who  planted  a  cannon 
on  the  brow  of  the  height  overlooking  the  town. 

A  few  arrests  were  made  by  the  United  States  Marshal, 
and  then  to  Sheriff  Jones  it  was  given  to  work  his  will. 
And  it  was  a  great  day  for  Jones.  Lawrence  had  re 
sisted  and  outgeneraled  him  for  a  twelvemonth.  Now  it 
lay  at  his  mercy. 

Early  that  morning,  Elliot  Darrow,  leaving  White 
Turkey  with  Mark  at  home,  had  ridden  up  to  Lawrence 
for  supplies  for  the  burned-out  neighborhood.  Much 
anxiety  was  felt  in  the  Vinland  Valley  for  him,  for  no 
highway  was  safe  now.  But  Elliot  had  no  fear  for  him 
self,  and,  as  he  rode  along,  his  fingers  seemed  to  feel  the 
momentary  touch  on  Beth's  throat  and  the  little  gold 
chain  upon  it. 

The  Eldridge  House  was  just  completed  and  opened 
that  day  for  its  first  dinner  in  celebration  of  the  event. 
Boniface  Penwin  was  a  guest,  and  as  he  sat  in  the  hand 
some  dining-room  he  was  amazed  to  see  Elliot  Darrow 
come  smiling  in  between  Rosalind  St.  Felix  and  her 
father. 


320  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"Does  the  dog  have  a  charmed  life?"  he  asked  him 
self.  "Buford's  men  promised  not  to  let  him  escape. 
Yet  here  he  is,  serene  as  a  summer  morning.  It  shall 
not  always  be  so,  if  I  must  do  the  deed  in  open  day 
light."  And  the  Colonel's  cold  gray  eyes  were  set  like  a 
serpent's  upon  the  young  man. 

"Darrow,"  St.  Felix  said,  "you  have  come  up  in  a 
poor  time.  There  will  be  trouble  here  before  night." 

"  I  '11  be  away  from  here  before  night,"  Elliot  answered. 
"I'm  just  after  a  horse's  load  of  things  for  the  neighbors." 

"  And  you  never  go  armed?  "  Rosalind  said,  with  pretty 
anxiety,  looking  up  at  him. 

He  was  not  thinking  of  himself,  else  he  would  have 
seen,  maybe,  how  frequently  she  sought  his  glance,  yet 
with  a  modest  air  that  showed  the  lady  she  would 
always  be. 

"  Yes,  Rosalind,"  he  smiled  down  on  her.  "  I  have 
my  big  coarse  fists,  somewhat  battered  since  last  night." 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  it,"  Rosalind  said  eagerly,  and 
Elliot  told  her  of  the  first  encounter,  when  Dr.  St.  Felix 
interrupted. 

"Never  mind  now,  Rossie,"  he  said.  "You  will  find 
every  road  barred  now,  Darrow.  You  can't  get  out  of 
Lawrence." 

"I  tell  you,  Doctor,  I've  got  to  get  home  this  after 
noon.  I  ought  not  to  have  staid  for  dinner."  The  shade 
on  Rosalind's  face  kept  him  from  saying  more. 

The  meal  was  hardly  finished  when  Sheriff  Jones, 
leading  two  dozen  armed  men,  appeared  in  the  street. 
With  swagger  and  sneer  and  much  show  of  power,  he 
demanded  the  rifles  and  cannon  of  the  Lawrence  men. 

There  was  no  alternative  but  to  give  up  the  cannon, 
but  the  rifles  were  refused.  Elliot  watched  the  whole 
proceeding  as  he  stood  in  the  window  of  Dr.  St.  Felix's 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"     321 

office;  while  down  on  the  street  Boniface  Penwin 
watched  him. 

"  The  coward  comes  sneaking  into  town  and  puts  him 
self  under  the  protection  of  St.  Felix,  whom  everybody 
knows  believes  in  slavery.  I  wonder  how  the  fighting 
Scotchman  will  like  that,"  Penwin  commented  mentally. 
"I'll  go  to  Lecompton  to-night  and  I'll  let  Lamond 
know  all  about  this.  It  won't  hurt  Craig  with  that  stub 
born  Scot.  Craig  can  let  Elizabeth  know  of  this,  too, 
and  of  Rosalind." 

With  shame  and  anger,  the  Lawrence  people  saw 
their  cannon  taken  away  from  them.  Was  there  no  jus 
tice  anywhere?  they  asked  themselves,  in  their  humilia 
tion. 

Meanwhile  half  a  thousand  armed  men  moved  in  a 
solid  column  down  upon  the  town  and  halted  before  the 
hotel.  Their  banners  were  flying  overhead,  but  the  flag 
of  a  free  nation  was  spared  that  shame  and  dishonor. 
In  its  stead  was  a  blood-red  banner  with  one  white  star 
upon  it,  and  the  words  "  Southern  Rights "  about  the 
star. 

Then  began  the  sack  of  the  newspaper  offices,  the 
breaking  up  of  the  presses,  and  the  scattering  of  books 
and  papers  in  the  street,  while  the  type  was  thrown  into 
the  Kaw  River.  The  cannon  that  had  brought  security 
to  the  beleaguered  town  in  the  Wakarusa  War  was  now 
planted  fairly  against  their  new  hotel.  Then  Jones,  with 
the  defenceless  people  at  his  mercy,  gave  out  his  orders. 
The  hotel  must  come  down.  New,  strongly  built,  just 
furnished  at  a  cost  of  thousands  of  dollars  —  yet  it  must 
be  destroyed. 

"  All  the  roads  are  guarded  now.  You  '11  be  shot  like  a 
dog,  Darrow."  Dr.  St.  Felix  said  to  Elliot.  "Help  us 


322  AWALLOFMEN 

now  to  get  our  belongings  out  of  here  before  they  begin 
their  work." 

Boniface  Penwin  watched  beside  the  cannon  while 
Elliot  helped  St.  Felix  to  carry  out  their  possessions, 
and  not  only  theirs,  but  others;  and  so  long  as  he  could 
be  of  service  the  young  man  worked;  while  across  the 
street  his  enemy  gloated  over  the  story  he  could  frame 
against  his  son's  strong  rival. 

With  all  this  destruction,  the  invaders  began  the  law 
less  looting  of  property  and  wanton  smashing  of  furniture 
and  other  belongings.  Then  cannon  from  four  directions 
were  trained  on  the  hotel,  and  ball  after  ball  crashed 
against  it.  But  it  stood  secure.  Powder-kegs  were 
placed  in  its  cellar  in  an  attempt  to  blow  it  apart.  But 
the  building  had  a  Free  State  foundation  and  firmness. 
Then  the  insidious  little  firebrands  came  into  play;  the 
flames  burst  from  every  window,  and  the  substantial 
hostelry,  because  "the  South  Carolinians  would  not  be 
satisfied"  otherwise,  was  left  a  mass  of  jagged  falling 
walls  and  smoking  embers. 

With  the  wild  cannonading  in  the  hands  of  drunken 
destroyers,  the  women  and  children  began  to  flee  from 
the  town  for  safety. 

"Come,  go  with  us,  Mr.  Darrow,"  Mrs.  Merriford 
pleaded. 

"Are  you  afraid  to  go?"  Elliot  asked. 

"No,  not  for  ourselves,  but  for  you,"  Mrs.  Merriford 
said. 

"  I  would  be  no  safer  there  than  here.  It  is  men  they 
want.  I'll  stay  here  with  them,"  Elliot  replied  deter 
minedly. 

"In  truth,  his  peace-loving  soul  had  never  before 
known  the  depths  of  anger  and  fury  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  had  brought  to  it.  And  Elliot,  with  set  teeth 


"LETTING    IN    THE    JUNGLE"      323 

and  white,  grim  face,  was  dedicating  himself  to  his 
country  with  a  courage  David  Lamond  would  have  joyed 
to  know. 

Amid  all  the  noises  of  cannon  and  roar  of  flame  and 
shouts  of  maudlin  glee,  Sheriff  Jones  showed  supremely 
tyrannous. 

"  The  happiest  day  of  my  life,"  he  declared.  "  I  deter 
mined  to  make  the  fanatics  bow  before  me  in  the  dust." 

Another  round  of  shot  poured  from  the  cannon,  carry 
ing  terror  and  destruction  as  it  hurled  its  way  through 
the  air. 

"  I  've  done  it,  by  God !  I  've  done  it,"  the  Sheriff  cried, 
with  a  scornful  sneer,  and,  turning,  he  dismissed  his 
forces,  to  rob  and  demolish  at  will. 

Then  followed  the  wild  invasion  of  sacred  places. 
Homes  were  ransacked  and  set  on  fire,  valuables  were 
carried  off,  and  precious  keepsakes  wantonly  destroyed. 
Mad  with  whisky  and  the  lust  for  loot,  these  creatures 
ran  like  wild  beasts  from  place  to  place,  loading  them 
selves  with  stolen  property  or  trampling  it  to  ruin. 
Knowing  no  law,  they  put  upon  the  sacked  town  every 
mark  of  degradation  and  demolition,  until  at  last,  leaving 
the  work  of  their  hands  to  the  bereft  citizens,  homeless 
women,  and  hungry  children,  glutted  with  vengeance 
and  rioting  in  savage  glee,  they  took  themselves  away. 
And  the  dove  of  peace  perched  again  on  the  broken  walls 
and  ruined  doorways  of  Lawrence. 

Elliot  Darrow  looked  back  as  he  left  the  town  in 
the  evening  gloaming.  Up  on  Mount  Oread  the  flames 
were  bursting  from  the  home  of  Dr.  Robinson.  The 
house  was  a  handsome  one,  finished  in  black  walnut,  with 
polished  mantels  and  dainty  furnishings,  and  this,  with 
all  its  precious  belongings,  was  blazing  against  the 
western  sky  with  a  lurid  glare.  The  sight  of  it  all,  with 


324  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  sacked  and  desolate  town  below  it,  set  the  young 
man's  blood  on  fire. 

"The  crowning  act  of  a  glorious  event!  —  and  'a 
man's  house  is  his  castle,' "  Elliot  said  bitterly.  "  If  the 
day  ever  comes  when  I  can  hold  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
above  that  hateful  rag  that  floated  out  in  disgrace  over 
Lawrence  to-day,  Quaker  that  I  am,  I  '11  do  it,  if  I  have 
to  carry  a  gun  in  one  hand  and  a  sword  in  the  other,  and 
wade  through  human  blood  even  to  my  own  last  minute. 
The  flag  of  my  country  is  worth  more  than  my  life,  for 
it  means  liberty  to  all  men.  And  to  its  honor  and  its 
power  I  give  myself  here." 

He  looked  long  at  the  Wakarusa  Valley,  wrapped  in 
the  purple  haze  of  twilight,  and  at  the  angry  flames  that 
crowned  Mount  Oread.  Then,  lifting  his  face  to  the  stars 
of  evening,  he  held  up  his  right  hand  in  sacred  promise 
to  God  for  the  land  he  loved  and  the  flag  to  which  he 
pledged  his  loyalty.  But  of  this  David  Lamond  knew 
nothing. 


PART  THREE 

THE  VICTORY 

Many  loved  Truth  and  lavished  life's  best  oil 

Amidst  the  dust  of  books  to  find  her, 
Content  at  last  for  guerdon  of  their  toil, 
With  the  cast  mantle  she  hath  left  behind  her. 
Many  in  sad  faith  sought  for  her, 
Many  with  crossed  hands  sighed  for  her, 
But  these,  our  brothers,  fought  for  her, 
At  life's  dear  peril  wrought  for  her, 
So  loved  her  that  they  died  for  her. 

Their  higher  instincts  knew 
Those  love  her  best  who  to  themselves  are  true 
And  what  they  dare  to  dream  of  dare  to  do. 

—  James  Russell  Lowell. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  MORAL  AGENCY 

The  Sharp's  rifle  was  a  truly  moral  agency. 

—  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

NOT  only  upon  Lawrence,  but  upon  all  the  Kansas 
Territory,  did  ruin,  and  riot,  and  menacing  peril 
hang  with  blighting  power  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
second  of  May,  1856.  For  if  the  destruction  of  Lawrence 
was  necessary  to  satisfy  the  South  Carolinians,  much 
more  dreadful  and  widespread  was  the  destruction  needed 
to  satisfy  the  Georgians,  the  Missourians,  and  others  who 
in  those  days  defamed  the  fair  names  of  States  they 
claimed  to  represent.  In  a  land  where  the  mere  question 
asked  of  a  stranger,  "Are  you  an  Abolitionist?"  if  an 
swered  in  the  affirmative,  might  send  the  assassin's  bullet 
crashing  through  a  man's  brain,  satisfaction  could  hardly 
be  complete  with  the  ruin  of  one  town.  Before  and  after 
the  vengeance  of  Sheriff  Jones  and  the  will  of  the  South 
Carolinians  was  wreaked  on  the  doomed  place,  the  whole 
region  to  the  east  and  south  was  under  dire  proscrip 
tion.  It  is  recorded  in  the  book  of  history  that  the 
raiders,  turned  loose  with  the  downfall  of  the  Eldridge 
House,  found  the  footing  of  Lawrence  only  the  whetting 
of  their  appetites  for  the  larger  feed  that  dying  men 
and  defenceless  women  alone  could  fully  glut.  Such  is 
the  maw  of  evil,  fed  with  the  daily  sight  of  slavery, 
whether  it  be  black  or  white.  And  the  story  of  the  woes 
of  Kansas  is  repeated  in  the  peonage  of  Mexico,  the 

327 


328  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

tyranny  of  Russia  in  Siberia,  and  the  white-slave  traffic 
and  child-labor  curse  of  the  United  States. 

When  Elliot  Darrow,  with  face  uplifted,  made  oath 
before  high  heaven  to  defend  the  flag  of  his  country, 
his  soul  was  uplifted  likewise  with  the  inspiration  of 
that  courage  that  can  meet  a  danger  it  dares  not  ignore. 
Elliot  knew  that  every  foot  of  the  Trail  before  him  was 
beset  with  peril.  But  he  was  young  and  strong  and 
daring  and  unafraid.  Once  more  he  turned  to  look  at 
the  beautiful  twilight  upon  the  Wakarusa  and  the  dark 
pall  of  smoke  hanging  over  Lawrence  and  the  red  flames 
leaping  angrily  on  the  top  of  Mount  Oread ;  and,  beyond 
all  these,  to  the  grandeur  of  the  sunset  sky,  unspeakably 
gorgeous  in  the  twilight  illumination.  Then  he  set  his 
face  to  the  south  and  rode  away  into  the  deepening 
gloom  of  night. 

He  rode  easily  at  first,  letting  his  horse  get  its  muscles 
into  play  and  mettle  into  temper.  Then  he  quickened 
his  speed  and  the  miles  were  paid  out  steadily  and 
swiftly.  His  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  darkness  and 
he  saw  his  way  distinctly  enough.  As  he  reached  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  beyond  the  Hole  in  the  Rock,  how 
ever,  the  shadows  were  very  black  below  him.  A  shiver 
shook  his  frame,  and  he  held  the  white  horse  back  for 
an  instant.  A  sense  of  impending  danger  possessed  him. 
The  mind  acts  with  amazing  swiftness,  sometimes.  In 
that  instant  Elliot  thought  of  many  things,  but  mostly 
he  remembered  to  have  recalled  his  mother's  face.  He 
repeated  in  memory  every  item  of  the  errand  she  had 
given  him  that  morning,  and,  curiously  enough,  he  re 
called  over  and  over  her  charge  to  get  turpentine  and 
camphor.  The  words  swung  round  through  his  brain 
on  some  pivot.  He  remembered  Beth  as  she  looked  on 
the  afternoon  down  in  the  cool  shadows  of  the  old  Trail. 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  329 

He  looked  at  his  white  horse  and  wished  somehow  it 
was  a  black  one  just  for  the  length  of  that  ravine.  And 
then  he  remembered  what  John  Brown  had  said  of  a 
white  horse  meaning  peace.  Somehow,  he  believed  that 
so  long  as  he  was  on  this  white  horse  peace  would  abide 
with  him  and  he  would  be  safe.  If  it  should  fail  him, 
peril  was  sure.  All  these  and  other  things  flashed  across 
his  mind  with  marvelous  quickness  in  one  brief  moment 
of  pause  on  the  brimc  of  the  black  ravine. 

The  next  moment  he  had  given  his  rein  a  turn,  and 
the  blackness  had  swallowed  horse  and  rider  as  they 
plunged  down  the  steep  slope  and  into  the  stream  above 
the  Hole  in  the  Rock.  As  he  reached  the  hither  side,  a 
wall  seemed  to  stand  before  him,  and  he  knew  he  had 
been  struck  a  terrific  blow.  He  uttered  no  sound  him 
self,  but  he  was  conscious  of  hearing  the  report  of  a 
gun  and  of  his  horse  staggering  about  and  then  sinking 
under  him.  A  sense  of  the  loss  of  peace  with  the  loss 
of  the  white  horse  possessed  him,  and  he  understood  the 
meaning  of  the  words  he  heard  beyond  him: 

"Make  sure  of  him  now,  or  you're  dead  men." 

The  tone  was  a  familiar  one,  reminding  Elliot  of  the 
winter  evening  at  this  very  spot,  when  he  had  heard  a 
voice  strangely  like  this  one  declare  threateningly: 

"  I  shall  say  something  here  this  evening  that  will  be 
said  only  once." 

Summoning  all  his  conscious  power,  his  keen  eyes 
searched  the  darkness,  and  he  recognized  the  two  men 
with  whom  he  had  fought  two  nights  before,  and  a  third 
man,  the  speaker,  and  he  called  him  now  clearly  by  his 
name. 

"Boniface  Penwin,  you  murderer!" 

Then  all  was  black,  inside  and  out,  for  Elliot  Darrow, 
and  he  knew  no  more. 


330  AWALLOFMEN 

The  news  of  the  Lawrence  raid  reached  Lecompton 
early  the  next  day  and  the  gloom  of  it  fell  heavily  upon 
the  prison  camp,  as  exaggerated  reports  of  the  cowardice 
of  the  Lawrence  men  were  rehearsed  in  the  prisoners' 
hearing,  and  the  bitterness  of  an  unjust  bondage  was 
made  doubly  galling. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Darrow?  Could  we  have  helped 
matters  if  we  had  been  there?  You  look  troubled." 
Lamond  asked  the  questions  as  the  two  men  paced  up 
and  down  the  narrow  tented  walkway  allowed  to 
prisoners. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  we  might  have  been  able  to  do 
if  we  had  been  there,"  Darrow  replied.  "I  wish  we 
might  have  had  the  chance,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 
"And  as  to  what  I  think,  Lamond,  I  think,  bad  as  the 
situation  must  be,  these  reports  are  all  magnified  for  our 
benefit." 

"  It 's  a  comfort  to  think  of  it  so ;  and  yet  you  seem 
cast  down,  Darrow,"  Lamond  said,  studying  the  Quaker's 
face. 

"  I  am  burdened  with  a  sense  of  some  disaster.  I  shall 
shake  it  off  soon.  I  hope  no  harm  is  befalling  our  loved 
ones.  We  can  stand  so  much  more  for  ourselves  than 
we  can  for  them."  And  Hiram  Darrow  walked  away. 

"  He  wants  to  be  alone,"  Lamond  thought.  "  I  '11  not 
follow  him." 

At  the  end  of  the  row  of  tents  the  Scotchman  stopped, 
and,  dropping  to  the  ground,  sat  looking  out  upon  the 
open  country  from  which  he  was  barred. 

Lecompton  at  that  time  was  one  of  the  plague  spots 
of  the  Territory,  a  resort  of  horse  thieves  and  other 
desperate  characters.  A  score  of  houses,  most  of  them 
used  for  saloons,  made  up  the  village,  and  all  the  vices 
and  crimes  that  belong  to  drunkenness  had  full  play  in 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  331 

this  isolated  place.  To-day  the  quiet  and  peace  of  the 
little  hamlet  overlooking  the  Kaw  River  and  the  rolling 
uplands  belie  the  turmoil  and  debauchery  and  menace  to 
human  life  that  were  its  leading  marks  half  a  century  ago. 

Lamond  had  heard  the  utterance  of  "such  a  deal  of 
stinking  breath"  around  the  prison  camp,  he  hardly 
noticed  what  was  said  about  him.  To-day,  however,  he 
may  have  been  more  alert,  for  he  found  himself  following 
the  story  of  the  sack  of  Lawrence,  coupled  with  the  tale 
of  the  loot  and  pillage  and  burning  in  the  Vinland  Valley 
two  nights  before.  The  speakers  were  beyond  the  tents, 
out  of  sight  of  Lamond,  but  their  voices  reached  him 
clearly  and  his  mind  suddenly  grew  intent  on  the  story 
they  were  telling. 

"Yes,  every  house  down  that  way  is  flat  ashes  now 
except  two,"  he  heard  one  say.  "They  failed  up  at  the 
Quaker's,  somehow.  I  didn't  hear  just  how." 

"Whose  was  the  other  place?"  Another  voice  ques 
tioned,  and  Lamond  listened  eagerly  for  the  answer. 

"  Oh,  that  Scotchman,  Lamond's.  They  came  pretty 
near  it,  though.  They  burned  the  stable  and  was  about 
to  take  the  house,  and  then,  it  seems,  some  fellows  come 
on  'em  sudden,  led  by  a  sweetheart  of  Lamond's  girl. 
She  is  beautiful,  they  say,  and  this  young  fellow  got 
wind  of  the  trouble  and  came  rarin*  across  the  country 
like  a  madman,  and  him  and  another  fellow  beat  'em  out 
and  drove  'em  off." 

David  Lamond  bowed  his  head  in  gratitude  to  God  for 
the  preservation  of  his  home  and  loved  ones. 

"Who  was  the  fellow,  did  you  hear?  Maybe  they'll 
get  him  next,"  the  first  speaker  said. 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,  'cause  it  was  young  Penwin,  old 
Colonel  Penwin's  boy.  You  see,  the  young  fellow  don't 
train  with  us  a  minute,  just  sneers  at  the  whole  lot.  But 


332  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

he 's  the  Colonel's  boy,  and  '  sound  on  the  goos<;.'  Stands 
by  his  Southern  teachin',  so  nobody  dares  to  interfere 
with  him.  I  know  it  was  him,  because  I  see  him  takin' 
Lamond's  big  black  horse  back  home  to-day.  They  took 
it  out  when  the  stable  burned.  The  fellows  was  meanin' 
to  use  it  themselves,  but  it  got  away  and  young  Penwin 
saved  it  and  the  house  and  the  girl  and  her  ma." 

"  Oh,  God  be  thanked ! "  David  Lamond  murmured. 

The  next  minute  he  was  straining  his  ears  again,  glad 
now  that  Hiram  Darrow  was  out  of  his  sight  and  of 
the  hearing  of  the  thing  he  heard. 

"Where  was  that  young  fellow  they  call  Darrow? 
Lives  down  there  somewhere,  I  know.  Looked  like  a 
pretty  cool-headed  chap  when  I  run  across  him  in  that 
Wakarusa  fuss  last  winter." 

If  Lamond  had  listened  closely  he  could  have  recog 
nized  the  voice  that  replied,  even  in  its  disguised  accent, 
for  the  Southern  inflection  is  not  easily  overcome;  but 
he  was  too  absorbed  in  the  words  to  think  of  the 
speaker. 

"Don't  you  know  about  him?    Orneriest  cuss  livin'." 

"  How 's  that?  " 

"  Oh,  he  was  home  all  right  night  before  last,  and  he 
lit  out  to  Lawrence  yesterday  mornin'  early.  Scared  to 
death  and  afraid  to  stay  at  home.  You  just  ought  to  'a* 
seen  how  he  went  over  to  the  other  side  when  Jones  and 
his  posse  took  Lawrence  and  all  the  Free  State  leaders 
were  away.  I  see  him  with  my  own  eyes,  stickin*  so  close 
to  a  Georgia  man  nobody  'd  dare  to  question  him.  He 's 
got  on  the  good  side  of  those  pro-slavery  fellows  to  save 
his  hide  —  the  lily-livered  Abolitionist's  son.  I  hate  a 
coward ! " 

"  So  do  I,"  groaned  David  Lamond.  "  And  that  is  the 
fair-faced,  smooth-tongued,  weak-kneed  thing  that  has 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  333 

won  my  Beth  by  his  pretty  taking  ways.  God  help  me ! 
I  '11  never  permit  it !  Never ! " 

And  the  set  face  and  clinched  fists  of  the  stern  Scotch 
man  left  no  room  to  doubt  him. 

"  This  fellow  Darrow  makes  love  to  St.  Felix's  daugh 
ter,  so  St.  Felix  will  protect  him.  He 's  a  slick  one.  All 
of  us  agreed  yesterday  he  'd  worked  a  darned  pretty  trick 
carryin'  water  on  both  shoulders.  But  he  '11  do  that,  and 
it  was  clear  to  everybody  he  was  joined  up  with  Jones' 
crew  yesterday.  Him  for  the  popular  side,  always." 
And  then  the  speakers  moved  out  of  Lamond's  hearing, 
for  they  had  no  more  to  say. 

Up  at  the  far  end  of  the  covered  walkway,  Winthrop 
Merriford  came  upon  Hiram  Darrow,  standing  with 
folded  arms,  looking  out  toward  the  Kaw  River. 

"Hello,  Darrow;  you  seem  distressed!"  The  lawyer's 
eyes  were  keen  and  he  read  men  easily. 

Hiram  Darrow  turned  his  face  to  his  questioner. 

"  Merriford,  I  have  no  cause  for  uneasiness  more  than 
others,  and  yet  I  am  possessed  with  a  sense  of  some  evil 
overhanging  my  boy." 

Winthrop  Merriford's  face  was  white  with  agony.  He 
grasped  the  Quaker's  hand. 

"Darrow,  I  doubt  if  any  other  man  in  Kansas  could 
understand  you  as  well  as  I  can.  I've  gone  over  the 
road.  My  own  boy,  Neil,  a  young  man  much,  very 
much  like  your  son,  is  lost."  The  lawyer  choked  and 
turned  away. 

Darrow  held  his  hand  with  a  firm  grasp,  and,  while  he 
did  not  speak,  there  was  a  sympathy  in  his  presence  that 
was  deeply  comforting. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  about  it,  but  not  now.  I  can't  now. 
To-morrow,  maybe.  ...  By  the  way,"  seeking  to  change 
the  subject,  "where  did  you  get  that  name,  Elliot,  for 


334  AWALLOFMEN 

your  son?  My  first  wife,  Neil's  mother,  was  closely 
related  to  the  Elliots." 

"We  named  him  for  his  mother.  Isabel,  my  wife,  I 
mean,  was  an  Elliot.  She  has  many  relatives  in  the  East. 
Her  nearest  of  kin  there  was  Osborne  Elliot,  of  Boston." 

Lawyer  Merriford  dropped  the  Quaker's  hand  and, 
stepping  back,  stared  at  him  intently. 

"I  understand  it  now;  I  understand,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Emily  and  I  have  often  spoken  of  your  son.  He  looks 
so  much  like  Neil.  The  Elliots  all  look  alike  —  all  of 
that  branch,  I  mean.  Neil's  mother  was  Osborne  Elliot's 
daughter.  The  boys  are  cousins.  Strange  I  never  thought 
of  it  before.  I  knew  my  wife  had  relatives  West.  Dar- 
row,  we  live  such  strenuous  lives  we  do  not  get  acquainted 
with  our  own  families.  I  'm  proud  to  be  related  to  you 
by  marriage.  I  see  Neil  in  Elliot  every  time  I  see  the 
boy." 

Hiram  Darrow  grasped  Merriford's  hand  and  pressed 
it  warmly. 

"  I  hope  your  anxiety  for  Elliot  is  only  momentary. 
God  grant  you  may  not  have  to  walk  the  path  I  have 
followed  for  the  last  twelve  months."  And  the  two  men 
passed  arm  in  arm  down  the  walkway  toward  David 
Lamond. 

The  day  that  Lawrence  was  sacked  was  a  long  one 
in  the  Vinland  Valley.  Nature  poured  out  her  bounty 
of  sunshine  and  warm  air  on  a  fertile  soil  awaiting  the 
plowman's  conquering  hand,  but  her  best  gifts  seemed 
like  mockery  to  the  scattered,  helpless  folk  who  starved 
in  fear  under  beneficent  skies  amid  luxuriant  wastes  of 
opulence.  The  houseless  families,  hungry,  naked,  and 
frightened,  bereft  of  the  sharp  necessities  of  life,  strug 
gled  now  to  find  how  life  itself  might  be  saved. 


A     MORAL     AGENCY  335 

Meanwhile  Buford's  forces  had  been  busy.  In  lonely 
ravines  dead  men  lay  unburied.  By  wayside  trails  bodies 
hung  from  limbs  of  trees.  In  defenceless  homes  women 
were  assaulted  with  brute  violence.  In  the  hours  that 
Elliott  Darrow  was  hemmed  in  at  Lawrence,  notices 
scrawled  in  red  lettering,  with  skull  and  cross-bones 
as  a  seal,  were  sent  to  all  the  Free  State  households  in 
the  Vinland  Valley.  The  order  contained  therein  com 
manded  immediately  exile  from  Kansas,  on  penalty  of 
death.  Where  were  these  people  to  go?  To  the  east 
was  Missouri,  more  perilous  and  impossible  than  Kansas ; 
to  the  west  was  the  prairie  wilderness ;  and  beyond  that 
the  hostile  plains  Indians  and  the  desert. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Isabel  Darrow  stood 
watching  the  Trail  westward,  hoping  her  boy  would 
come  soon.  She  knew  only  too  well  what  threatened 
the  valley.  White  Turkey  had  left  the  cabin  early  in  the 
afternoon.  Mark  was  helping  a  settler  left  houseless 
and  half  dead  from  his  struggle  to  defend  his  home  in 
the  midnight  before.  Joe  and  Patty  Wren  had  gone 
to  the  aid  of  a  sick  widow. 

So  the  Quaker  woman  was  alone.  Standing  in  the 
warm  afternoon  sunshine,  in  her  simple  gray  dress,  with 
her  fair  face  and  her  crown  of  beautiful  hair,  she  made  a 
strange  picture  on  that  trouble-darkened  day.  About 
her  mouth  was  a  firmness  only  courage  can  write,  and 
in  her  large  dark  eyes  glowed  the  light  of  absolute  trust. 

A  horseman  of  the  Buford  type  dashed  up  the  way  to 
the  cedars  and  roughly  thrust  a  paper  toward  her. 

"  Read  that,  and  profit  by  it.  No  foolishness  now " 

he  ended,  with  an  oath.  Then  with  a  learing  insolence 
he  leaned  toward  her. 

"  I  believe  I  '11  stay  with  you,"  he  said  in  insulting 
tones. 


336  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

He  was  a  giant  in  stature,  and  coarseness  marked 
every  motion  and  expression.  Isabel  knew  she  was 
powerless  to  protect  herself,  and  her  prayer  went  up  to 
God  that  He  would  be  her  Rock  of  Defence.  The  pioneer 
women  learned  to  pray  quickly,  as  they  learned  also  in 
supremest  faith  that  the  day  of  miracles  lasted  even  until 
Kansas  was  admitted  to  the  Union. 

So  Isabel  Darrow  prayed,  and  the  answer  came,  not  in 
a  wall  of  fire  that  Zechariah  promised  the  Lord  would 
put  round  about  his  people,  but  in  a  stalwart  red  Indian 
who  stalked  out  from  the  shadows  of  the  cedars. 

"You  go!"  White  Turkey  pointed  down  the  Trail, 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

The  ruffian  stared  at  him,  and  then,  with  a  sneer,  he 
cried  out: 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  '11  go.  But  I  'II  come  back.  Don't  forget  it. 
7 '//  come  back.  Your  family  had  better  get  out  of  Kansas 
inside  the  time  set,  —  three  days.  They  won't  get  out 
after  that,  not  a  one  of  'em;  but  you  won't  go, —  not 
you ! "  He  grinned  with  hateful  ugliness  and  rode  away. 

"  White  Turkey,  the  Lord  must  have  sent  thee,"  Isabel 
Darrow  exclaimed.  "  I  thought  thee  had  gone  two  hours 
ago." 

The  Indian  did  not  smile. 

"White  Turkey  come  back.  Stay  there,"  pointing  to 
the  cedars.  "  Me  go  now." 

"Can't  thee  stay  till  Elliot  gets  here?  We  need  thee 
now,"  Isabel  said  earnestly. 

But  the  Indian  would  not  yield. 

"  White  woman,"  he  said  slowly,  "  you  not  say  '  stay.' 
White  Turkey  must  go.  For  you  White  Turkey  go." 
And  he  strode  away  without  another  word. 

Then  Isabel  Darrow  in  the  evergreen  shadows  lifted 
Ker  hands  in  prayer. 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  337 

"  How  long,  O  Lord,  must  we  pay  in  blood  and  treas 
ure  that  thy  people  may  be  free?  How  long  shall  we 
endure  and  sacrifice  until  we  may  strike  for  the  right 
and  win  to  victory?" 

Deep  in  her  soul  the  answer  came,  clear  as  a  human 
voice,  and  she  listened,  never  doubting  its  message. 

"  The  hour  is  now.    Go  forth  to  victory." 

The  evening  came  at  last,  but  Elliot  did  not  appear. 
Through  the  long  hours  of  the  night  Isabel  watched 
and  waited  and  prayed  for  her  boy,  who  came  not.  And 
then  the  morning  dawned,  with  its  mockery  of  sunshine 
and  sweet  air,  and  another  day  of  waiting  and  hope  and 
dread  followed. 

By  midday  word  reached  the  cabin  that  Hiram  Dar- 
row's  white  horse  was  lying  dead  in  the  ravine  by  the 
Hole  in  the  Rock,  with  a  bullet  hole  in  its  side. 

"  The  end  of  peace,"  Mark  said  bitterly.  "  Now,  it  is 
the  black  horse  for  power,  and  the  red-roan  for  blood 
shed.  I  wonder  how  long  the  black  horse  will  live." 
And  Mark  clinched  his  fists  in  his  set  purpose.  He 
longed  for  action,  yet  he  dared  not  leave  his  mother  alone 
in  the  unprotected  home. 

Little  Joe  sobbed  heart-brokenly  in  the  kitchen  door 
way,  but  Isabel  went  in  and  out  like  one  in  a  dream. 
The  earth  had  gone  out  from  under  her  feet,  and  she  did 
not  try  to  think. 

Craig  Penwin,  who  had  found  Pluto  wandering  down 
the  Trail,  took  him  home  on  this  morning,  and  Beth  heard 
from  him  the  story  of  Lawrence  and  of  Elliot's  devotion 
to  Rosalind  and  his  cowardly  desertion  of  principles  in 
the  crisis  of  affairs.  Craig  was  a  gifted  son,  and  his  tale 
was  so  well  told  it  left  no  doubt  in  Mrs.  Lamond's 
mind. 

"  I  believe  I  am  as  set  as  my  husband  is,"  she  said  to 


338  AWALLOFMEN 

herself.  "  I  had  so  built  on  Elliot's  worth,  I  resent 
Craig's  telling  me  what  I  must  believe.  Oh,  dear!  he 
had  such  a  winning  way.  Nobody  could  help  liking 
him  —  not  even  David.  It's  been  the  hardest  fight  of 
his  life  to  turn  against  the  boy.  But  it 's  all  over  now." 

As  for  Beth,  she  steadfastly  refused  to  doubt  Elliot's 
loyalty,  and  scouted  the  idea  of  his  being  afraid ;  but  the 
well-told  account  of  his  affectionate  devotion  to  Rosalind 
St.  Felix,  who  needed  no  protection  in  Lawrence,  a  thing 
all  Lawrence  knew  and  remarked  upon  —  that  was  the 
stab  that  hurt.  But  she  should  not  blame  him,  she  told 
herself.  He  was  shut  out  indefinitely  from  her  own 
home;  why  shouldn't  he  go  where  he  chose?  And  she 
knew  his  first  choice  would  be  Rosalind,  and  yet  she 
would  not  have  had  it  so. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Tarley  Penwin  brought  the  news 
of  the  white  horse  in  the  ravine  and  the  still  missing 
Elliot. 

Beth  and  her  mother  sat  side  by  side  on  the  settle  with 
hand  clasped  in  hand. 

"  Better  so  than  a  coward  and  a  traitor,"  Mrs.  Lamond 
said,  for  neither  one  questioned  how  the  unknown  part  of 
the  tragedy  would  finally  be  told. 

"Yes,  mother,  better  so,"  Beth  said,  shutting  her  lips 
with  that  stern  strength  a  daughter  of  David  Lamond 
might  possess. 

But  in  secret  she  kissed  the  gold  chain  and  wept  hot 
tears  of  anguish,  comforted  with  only  one  thought,  —  he 
was  hers,  now  and  forever.  No  dainty  little  lady  like 
Rosalind  St.  Felix  could  ever  rob  her  now.  No  stern 
father  could  set  his  face  against  her.  And  he  had  died 
for  his  principles.  Surely  the  slaughtered  horse  could 
mean  nothing  else,  although  Craig  had  adroitly  intimated 
that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  slipping  out  to  Missouri  and 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  339 

away  to  Indiana  again,  where  he  could  safely  turn  Abo 
litionist  and  preach  his  Quaker  cant. 

But,  however  much  Craig  Penwin  may  have  colored 
the  reports  from  Lawrence  to  suit  his  own  cause,  he 
was  outspoken  in  his  bitter  criticism  of  the  men  with 
whom  his  father  trained  daily;  he  defied  and  denounced 
Buford  and  his  measures;  he  went  wherever  he  chose 
and  said  whatever  it  pleased  him  to  say;  and  because 
he  was  Colonel  Penwin's  son,  and  a  believer  in  slavery, 
the  men  were  forced  to  laugh  at  him  and  take  his  words 
in  good  part.  He  had  the  freedom  of  the  country,  and 
the  courage  of  his  convictions,  and  the  manners  of  a 
gentleman,  and  he  helped  more  than  one  settler;  but  he 
was  limited  in  his  scope,  for  he  carried  a  divided  heart 
and  gave  sympathy  or  withheld  it  through  personal 
motives  always. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  Patty  Wren  came  trotting  to 
the  Darrow  cabin. 

"  Mis'  Darrow,"  she  said,  with  a  little  chirp  of  sympa 
thy  that  was  vastly  comforting,  "  you  '11  feel  better  doin'n 
any  other  way.  Ef  I  wasn't  doin'  I'd  be  settin'  by  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  puttin*  ashes  on  my  head  an'  rentin* 
my  sackcloth.  You  must  be  doin'.  Ain't  there  nobody 
we  can  appeal  to?  Nobody?  " 

"Yes,"  Mark  said  —  his  voice  was  hard  and  void  of 
all  feeling,  and  it  made  Patty  shiver — "there's  John 
Brown.  If  thee  would  let  me,  I  'd  go  to  him  and  ask  him 
to  help  us.  We  are  ordered  to  leave  Kansas  in  three 
days.  We  are  not  going,  but  what  will  we  do?" 

"  You  've  hit  it,  Mark.  Take  Cotton  Mather  and  ride 
for  your  life.  Go  to  John  Brown.  They  ain't  nobody 
else  left  anywhere  now." 

"Oh,  Patty  Wren,  shall  I  send  another  boy  away? 
Thee  knows  how  full  of  danger  the  country  is.  Even 


340  AWALLOFMEN 

Elliot,  big  and  brave,  and  strong  as  he  was "    She 

could  say  no  more. 

"Mis'  Darrow" — Patty's  eyes  were  bright  with  a 
sublime  trust  — "  Mis'  Darrow,  the  Lord  don't  never  lay 
on  us  no  more'n  we  can  bear,  but  He  asks  us  to  trust 
Him  and  to  help  ourselves.  Now  the  enemy 's  closin*  on 
us.  Our  men  folks  is  up  to  Lecompton,  in  jail,  or  dead, 
or  driv'  off.  Our  houses  is  burned.  Our  crops  is  dwin- 
dlin'  away,  an'  now  we're  ordered  by  the  wholesale  to 
leave  the  country.  For  more'n  a  week  the  orders  has 
been  goin'  out.  Now,  let's  trust  to  the  Lord,  who  don't 
never  fail  us  ner  forsake  us,  an'  do  what  we  can.  Send 
Mark  with  your  prayers  an'  blessin'  down  to  John  Brown 
an*  ask  him  to  help.  Cokey  says  he's  the  coolest, 
bravest,  settest  man  ever  walked  the  Good  Bein's  foot 
stool.  Send  Mark;  he  might  find  Elliot." 

Isabel  Darrow  rose  up  and  went  to  Mark.  "  My  boy, 
will  thee  go?  "  she  asked,  looking  into  his  eyes  with  all  a 
mother's  love.  "There  is  danger  in  every  step,  but  — 
with  the  Lord  there  is  safety.  This  is  his  world,  Mark. 
He  will  not  suffer  thee  to  perish,  save  by  his  will." 

Mark  Darrow  never  forgot  his  mother's  beautiful  face, 
as  she  stood  before  him  there.  He  was  a  man  now  in 
strength  and  purpose,  and  he  had  always  been  a  daring, 
fearless  boy. 

"  Mother,  I  am  not  afraid.  I  '11  go  to  John  Brown,  and 
maybe  I  can  find  Elliot  —  or  some  trace  of  him.  I  don't 
believe  he  is  dead."  Mark's  voice  was  very  firm. 

"  And  neither  don't  I,"  Patty  Wren  said,  determinedly. 

"It  seems  like  a  forlorn  hope,  and  yet,  God  is  good. 
Let  us  trust  him  that  the  best  will  come  to  us." 

Elliot's  mother  looked  much  like  her  son,  as  a  sweet, 
brave  smile  played  over  her  countenance.  In  her  heart 
she  knew  the  odds  were  hopelessly  tremendous  against 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  341 

finding  her  boy  alive.  He  must  be  wounded  and  may  be 
dying  even  then.  But  she  looked  up  to  the  blue  Kansas 
sky,  and  He,  whose  is  the  earth  and  the  seas,  sent  com 
fort  to  her  soul. 

Before  another  hour  Mark  Darrow,  on  Coke  Wren's 
hard-mouthed  little  pony,  was  speeding  away  to  find 
the  man  who  had  promised  the  ten  years  of  trouble  in 
the  October  nutting  time. 

As  Mark  rode  along,  his  spirits  rose  to  a  buoyancy 
they  had  not  known  for  hours. 

"I  believe  we'll  get  help,  and  I  believe  Elliot  is  safe 
somewhere.  Dear  boy,"  he  mused,  "  the  best  brother 
ever  lived.  He  can't  be  lying  in  some  of  these  ravines, 
dead.  I'll  find  out  where  he  is  before  I  go  to  mother 
again,  so  help  me,  God.  Living  or  dead,  I  '11  know  some 
thing  to  tell  her  and  Joe."  And  on  he  rode. 

In  the  records  of  history  there  are  hundreds  of  authen 
tic  accounts,  many  of  them  unprintable  for  their  bar 
barity,  of  the  cruelties  of  the  border  ruffians  during  the 
years  of  Territorial  troubles  in  Kansas.  The  high  tide 
of  all  this  cruelty  was  reached  in  the  May  time  of  1856. 
And  as  yet,  resistance  was  offered  only  as  a  last  extrem 
ity  of  self-defence.  The  policy  of  retaliation  and  of 
offense,  as  well  as  defence,  belongs  to  the  later  years. 
The  pioneers  submitted  long  before  that  day  came.  The 
afternoon  shadows  were  lengthening  when  Mark  Darrow 
rode  into  a  camp  of  armed  men  on  Ottawa  Creek.  It 
was  the  camp  of  the  Pottawatomie  Rifles.  This  com 
pany  of  men  from  the  region  south  and  east  hastily 
called  the  day  before  to  march  to  the  defence  of  Law 
rence,  had  been  halted  here  by  the  news  that  Lawrence 
was  now  beyond  help  from  them.  Not  so  the  coun 
tryside  through  which  the  beautiful  Marais  des  Cygnes 
and  its  tributaries  flow.  The  settlers  of  this  fertile 


342  AWALLOFMEN 

region,  with  its  clear  streams,  its  sunny  uplands,  and 
leafy  hollows,  liko  the  settlers  of  the  Vinland  Valley, 
cowered  in  terror,  and  knew  not  whither  to  flee.  Their 
wails  of  distress  and  pleas  for  succor  had  come  hither 
to  the  camp  of  the  Pottawatomie  Rifles,  halted  briefly  on 
the  banks  of  Ottawa  Creek. 

At  the  edge  of  the  camp  Mark  slid  from  his  pony,  and, 
leading  it  behind  him,  asked  the  first  man  he  met  to  take 
him  to  John  Brown's. 

"That's  him  out  yonder,"  the  man  replied,  pointing 
to  a  figure  sitting  alone  in  the  shade  of  a  huge  elm  tree. 

Mark  deftly  knotted  his  bridle  rein  about  the  limb 
of  a  sapling,  and  then  went  forward  to  where  John  Brown 
sat.  The  eyes  of  youth  are  keen,  and  Mark  was  quick 
to  note  every  detail  of  the  scene  before  him. 

John  Brown,  a  prairie  claim-holder  and  farmer,  plainly 
dressed,  bare-headed,  with  his  gun  across  his  lap,  sat 
gazing  at  the  winding  course  of  the  creek  before  him. 
Yet  his  eyes  seemed  looking  at  nothing  there,  but  through 
everything  and  beyond  everything,  he  was  looking  into 
a  vast,  far  future.  And  so  broad  was  the  scope  of  that 
vision,  small  wonder  is  it  that  he  noted  little  of  the  land 
marks  of  the  way. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  Mark  said,  lifting  his  cap,  "  may  I  speak 
to  you  a  minute?" 

John  Brown  looked  up  at  the  big,  muscular,  boyish 
figure  before  him;  at  the  honest  face,  and  clear,  fearless 
eyes.  The  bloom  of  health  showed  through  the  tan  of 
the  yet  unbearded  cheek,  and  the  courage  of  inexperi 
ence  gave  a  care-free  bearing  in  spite  of  the  burden  on 
the  young  heart.  The  older  man  smiled  kindly,  and 
extending  his  hand,  said: 

" How  do  you  do,  Darrow?    What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Mr.  Brown,  I  suppose  I  have  no  claim  on  you  to 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  343 

ask  you  for  help.  But  I  don't  know  where  else  to  go 
now.  My  father  is  in  jail  at  Lecompton  for  treason.  He 
helped  to  rescue  Branson  last  November.  They  have 
tried  to  burn  our  house,  but  we  fought  them  off.  My 
brother  Elliot  was  waylaid  and  lost  between  Lawrence 
and  home  last  night,  we  are  ordered  to  leave  Kansas,  and 

my  mother's  life  is  threatened.  My  mother  " Mark 

suddenly  ceased  speaking. 

"Go  on,  my  boy,"  Brown  said,  kindly. 

"It's  no  use,"  Mark  replied.  The  light  went  out  of 
his  young  eyes,  and  he  added,  bitterly:  "Everybody 
else  is  just  like  we  are.  There  is  no  help  anywhere." 

Mark  threw  himself  on  the  ground  and  said  no 
more. 

John  Brown  looked  silently  at  the  boy  before  him, 
sitting  with  drooping  shoulders  and  sorrow-smitten 
countenance. 

"  Young  man,  you  are  right.  Your  case  is  just  the 
common  lot,  and  we  endure  it  all  until  we  break." 

"Why  should  we  not  strike  back?"  Mark  flashed  the 
question  out. 

Brown  grasped  his  gun  tightly.  "  We  will  —  we  must. 
There  is  no  other  way." 

"When?"  the  boy  asked. 

"  Now,"  came  the  answer.  "  Let  your  pony  feed  and 
rest.  You  have  come  fast.  In  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
go  home  —  carefully,  mind  you.  But  you  will  mind.  Tell 
your  mother  she  shall  be  protected.  So  your  brother  is 
dead?  A  fine  young  man,  he  was." 

"No,  he's  not  dead  —  he's  lost.  I'm  going  to  hunt 
for  him." 

"Where?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Then  don't  waste  time." 


344  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"But  I  will,"  Mark  said,  defiantly,  and  John  Brown 
smiled  grimly. 

"Waste  it  then,  but  save  your  horse's  time  and 
strength,  now.  It  will  be  the  better  for  you.  Also,  you  '11 
not  be  such  an  easy  mark  in  the  dark." 

With  these  words,  Brown  rose  and  joined  the  leaders 
of  the  rifle  company.  Mark  sat  in  the  edge  of  the  group 
and  listened  as  one  may  hear  deliberation  upon  his  own 
doom,  so  vital  was  the  issue  in  that  little  camp  that 
day.  No  voice  came  out  of  the  May  breezes  wandering 
through  the  woodland  —  no  message  was  written  in  the 
waving  prairie  grasses  —  no  murmuring  prophecy  in  the 
shining  waters  of  the  Ottawa,  slipping  down  to  Marais 
des  Cygnes;  nothing  in  the  quiet  shade  in  the  midst  of 
that  company  of  strong,  determined  men  to  say  that  the 
judgments  of  that  hour  must  go  far  and  far  toward  sway 
ing  all  the  future  of  mankind. 

As  Mark  listened,  his  heart  forgot  to  beat.  The  bur 
den  on  his  mind,  the  help  he  came  to  secure,  seemed  such 
a  small  part  of  all  the  anguish  and  dire  need  and 
unspeakable  atrocity,  that  called  on  these  men  for  rescue 
and  redress.  The  names  of  those  on  whom  vengeance 
was  long  overdue  were  not  all  familiar  ones  to  the  boy, 
and  he  wondered  afterward  how  he  could  have  remem 
bered  them  and  their  deeds  so  minutely,  for  no  word  of 
that  conference  was  ever  lost  from  his  memory.  Round 
and  round  in  his  brain  they  tramped  until  he  knew 
them  all: 

Henry  Sherman,  better  known  as  "  Dutch  Henry,"  of 
Dutch  Henry's  Crossing,  on  the  Pottawatomie  Creek  — 
cattle-thief,  saloon-keeper,  drunkard,  quarrelsome,  hater 
of  Free-State  men,  or  any  other  free  thing;  a  terror  to 
the  defenceless,  a  menace  to  human  life  —  and  William 
Sherman,  brother  to  "  Dutch  Henry  " —  a  little  worse  in 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  345 

everything  wherein  his  brother  was  vile,  and  withal  much 
less  intelligent,  depending  on  his  brother  for  protection 
in  all  his  acts; 

Their  neighbor,  Allen  Wilkinson,  boon  companion  to 
the  Shermans  —  a  member  of  the  Kansas  bogus  legisla 
ture,  elected  by  fraudulent  votes  while  he  was  yet  living 
in  Missouri;  insufferably  contemptible  even  under  the 
law,  without  the  law  he  was  unspeakably  vile,  attacking 
men  and  assaulting  women  —  all  of  whose  deeds  meek 
Free-State  men  were  expected  to  endure  with  mildness 
and  patience; 

And  the  Doyles  —  the  Doyles!  Trash  of  the  earth. 
Low-down  whites  under  the  level  of  the  enslaved  negro, 
amenable  to  no  law,  for  they  understood  no  law  but  the 
rule  of  their  foul  lusts.  They  had  brought  their  blood 
hounds  with  them  to  Kansas  to  hunt  down  fugitive 
slaves  or  Free-State  white  men.  They  played  the  spy 
for  other  men,  tools  of  every  evil  power.  They  did  not 
know  the  ages  of  their  own  children,  nor  did  their  chil 
dren  know  their  own  fathers.  But,  no  matter.  These 
Doyles  were  Kansas  settlers,  come  hither  to  build  up  a 
State.  And  in  their  clutches,  with  such  leaders  as  Wil 
kinson  and  the  Shermans,  must  the  intelligent,  high-born 
patriotic  pioneers  suffer  silently  every  indignity  only 
such  as  these  could  devise. 

As  Mark  listened  to  the  history  set  forth  in  that  coun 
cil,  he  thought  of  his  father,  and  of  his  clean,  honest 
life ;  of  the  Quaker  home,  where  reverence  for  the  Creator 
and  a  loving  trust  in  the  heavenly  Father  and  peace  and 
good-will,  brotherly  love  and  equal  rights  to  all  men,  and 
women  as  well,  had  been  the  daily  teaching.  He  thought 
of  his  mother,  beautiful,  noble,  intelligent,  and  the  stories 
the  riflemen  told  there  of  what  had  befallen  the  women 
in  other  settlements  set  his  brain  on  fire.  He  thought  of 


346  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Elliot,  and  the  sudden  loss,  forgotten  in  the  intensity  of 
the  hour,  seemed  to  crush  him  to  the  earth. 

And  then  he  remembered  David  Lamond,  the  ster 
ling  patriot;  and  Winthrop  Merriford,  the  scholarly 
statesman;  and  Coke  Wren,  indomitable  and  loving. 

"  Oh,  the  men  who  can  make  a  country,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "The  noble,  brave  men.  And  these  stupid, 
tricky,  vile  forces  must  crush  their  purpose.  How  can 
God  let  such  things  be?" 

Mark  caught  his  breath.  The  mind  of  the  council  was 
crystallizing  into  a  plan.  How  could  the  Quaker  boy  know 
that  he  sat  in  the  presence  of  greatness,  then ;  of  ambas 
sadors  chosen  to  do  a  world  service  in  these  beginnings? 

"  The  hour  to  strike  has  come.  It  is  the  day  of  God's 
retribution.  We  shall  be  judged  by  Him  whom  we  be 
lieve  sends  us  out  now;  all  other  judgments  are  as 
nothing." 

Mark  never  knew  who  spoke.  The  words  were  big 
with  the  destiny  of  a  state  in  their  meaning.  The  dec 
laration  had  followed  the  pleading  of  a  messenger  just 
come  into  the  company  with  a  cry  more  bitter  than  any 
others  yet  heard  there.  The  boy  saw  John  Brown  leap 
to  his  feet,  and  his  face  was  like  the  face  of  Moses  when 
he  came  from  the  side  of  old  Horeb,  where  was  the 
burning  bush  and  the  voice  of  the  "I  Am?"  Brown 
stood  listening  to  every  syllable  of  the  man  praying 
for  the  helpless  folk  on  Kansas  claims  along  the  Pot- 
tawatomie. 

u  In  God's  name,  who  will  keep  back  the  Shermans  and 
the  Doyles  and  Wilkinsons,  and  all  their  crew,  from 
assaults  on  these  defenceless  people?"  the  messenger 
entreated. 

"I  will  attend  to  these  fellows." 

It  was  John  Brown  who  spoke.     Mark  Darrow  did 


A    MORAL    AGENCY  347 

not  know  why  a  picture  in  the  bifc  old  family  Bible  came 
to  his  mind  then.  It  was  the  picture  of  the  desert  and 
the  thirst-mad  Israelites  on  the  burning  wastes.  And  in 
the  foreground  the  big,  dark  rock,  from  which  the  stroke 
of  the  grand  old  warrior's  rod  had  brought  the  coo!,  life- 
giving  water  gushing  abundantly  forth. 

To  the  Quaker  boy  John  Brown  looked  like  Moses 
in  that  moment.  He  did  not  follow  the  deliberations 
so  carefully  now,  for  his  own  famishing  lips  seemed  to 
have  been  cooled  by  water,  and  he  was  content.  He 
knew,  indeed,  there  was  careful  weighing  of  issues  and 
much  lining  up  of  forces,  choosing  and  rejecting.  But 
through  it  all  one  thread  of  thought  ran  strong  and  firm. 
The  hour  to  strike  had  come.  The  day  of  retaliation 
was  at  hand. 

The  council  broke  up.  Then  Mark  saw  John  Brown 
surrounded  by  a  little  group  of  men,  and  he  stepped 
nearer,  drawn  by  a  magnetism  of  which  he  was  uncon 
scious.  Brown  saw  him  and  called  him  by  name. 

"  Darrow,  go  home  now.  Tell  your  good  mother  the 
justice  of  God  will  not  fail.  Good-by."  His  voice  was 
as  a  woman's,  and  in  his  eyes  a  fatherly  sympathy 
dwelt. 

Mark  lingered  still,  while  half  a  dozen  men,  with  John 
Brown  and  a  driver,  mounted  a  wagon,  and  stood  sur 
rounded  by  the  Riflemen.  The  men  in  the  wagon  were 
heavily  armed,  and  Mark  noted  the  gleaming  cutlasses 
and  bowie-knives  they  wore. 

"We  go  now,"  Brown  was  saying.  "Drive  south. 
This  is  our  work.  We  have  chosen  it;  we  will  do  it. 
It  is  for  freedom  and  humanity.  Good-by."  He  waved  his 
hand. 

A  burst  of  cheers  from  those  who  remained;  a  wav 
ing  of  caps ;  a  sending  forth  of  many  a  "  God-speed ! " 


348  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Then  the  Quaker  boy  mounted  his  pony  and  turned 
his  face  toward  the  Vinland  Valley. 

All  this  was  on  a  Friday.  Two  days  later  when  the 
Sabbath  came,  the  Territory,  and  later  the  Nation,  was 
startled  with  the  unparalleled  story  of  a  Free-State 
uprising.  Bill  Sherman,  Allen  Wilkinson,  and  the  three 
Doyles  —  father  and  two  sons  —  had  been  taken  from 
their  homes  in  the  dead  of  night  and  silently  sent  to 
their  doom, 

With  all  their  crimes  broad  blown  as  flush  as  May. 

Those  who  took  the  sword  had  perished  by  the  sword. 
The  Pottawatomie  Massacre,  the  first  blow  for  the  real 
freedom  of  Kansas,  like  a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear  sky, 
dropped  into  the  hitherto  one-sided  record  of  the  struggle 
for  supremacy  in  the  Kansas  Territory  and  became  an 
event  fixed  for  all  time  in  the  annals  of  the  West.  Its 
horrors  were  rehearsed,  and  its  atrocity  bitterly  de 
nounced  by  the  South  and  the  misunderstanding  North. 

But  to  the  men  who  accomplished  it,  the  perspective 
of  Time  has  been  magnanimous. 

And  the  hooting  mob  of  yesterday  in  silent  awe  return 
To  glean  up  their  scattered  ashes  into  History's  golden 
urn. 


CHAPTER    XXII 
THE    ENDURING    PROMISE 

So  much  we  miss 
If  love  is  weak,  so  much  we  gain 
If  love  is  strong;  God  thinks  no  pain 
Too  sharp  or  lasting  to  ordain 

To  teach  us  this.  —  H.  H. 

THE  first  man  to  get  out  of  the  Lecompton  "prairie 
bastile  "  was  Coke  Wren,  of  course.  Honorably  dis 
charged,  too,  for  Coke  would  have  taken  no  other  kind. 
But  by  some  shrewd  Yankee  turn  he  did  not  explain, 
which  called  out  much  profanity  afterward  from  those 
who  were  caught  by  the  maneuver,  he  managed  to  get 
his  freedom. 

"  I  want  to  know,  now,  would  keepin'  a  stringy  shoat 
like  me  fattenin'  on  State  fodder  do  their  precious  cause 
any  good?  It  would  take  a  stack  of  Coke  Wrens  'bout 
six  deep  to  make  one  real,  straightforward  traitor,  any 
how.  A  Yankee's  boun'  to  be  all  right  ef  '  you  take  him 
by  hisself.' " 

So  Coke  declared  on  the  day  the  powers  at  Lecompton 
turned  him  loose;  and  then  he  made  the  dust  fly  as  he 
sped  down  the  Trail  toward  the  Vinland  Valley.  He 
was  loaded  with  messages  from  the  men  he  had  left 
imprisoned,  and  he  could  not  too  soon  deliver  himself  of 
them.  And  all  of  them  save  one  brought  comfort. 

The  one  was  a  long  letter  from  David  Lamond  to  his 
daughter.  Full  of  fatherly  love  and  fatherly  authority, 
it  rehearsed  the  whole  story  of  Elliot's  downfall  that 

349 


350  AWALLOFMEN 

Craig  had  already  burned  into  Beth's  mind.  And  it 
bound  her  anew  to  her  sacred  promise  to  him  to  have 
no  communication  with  the  Quaker  until  he  should  see 
her  again.  There  was  a  new  pathos  in  all  his  pleading 
now,  for  it  came  from  a  father  shut  in  by  prison  bonds, 
and  it  appealed  to  her  loyalty  as  to  her  love.  Beth  kissed 
the  name  he  had  signed  and  wondered  how  he  would 
accept  the  reality  when  he  knew  it.  This  was  in  the 
early  evening  of  the  day  she  had  heard  of  Elliot's  dis 
appearance —  the  same  day  that  Mark  had  gone  to  the 
camp  of  John  Brown  —  and  she  was  numb  to  the  swing 
of  events,  moving  about  as  one  in  a  dream. 

The  coming  of  Coke  was  God's  providence  to  the 
Darrow  home.  Isabel  and  Joe  and  Patty  Wren  had 
filled  the  hours  after  Mark  went  away  with  anything 
they  found  to  do.  But  when  the  evening  came,  sorrow 
and  dread  and  anxiety  came  back  to  give  battle  when 
hands  were  idle  and  minds  must  meet  them.  The  hours 
dragged  by,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  Mark's  coming 
to  relieve  their  fears  for  him. 

Into  all  this  Coke  Wren  walked  with  the  assurance 
that  was  sublime.  Good  news  came  with  him  —  the  cer 
tainty  that  imprisonment  would  end  as  all  farces  must 
some  time;  and  Hiram  Darrow  was  well  and  hopeful. 
Mark  would  be  back  all  right,  too.  Coke  could  give  a 
dozen  sane  reasons  why  he  knew  it.  And  Elliot?  Well, 
there  was  chance  for  hope  as  for  fear.  When  Mark 
came  back,  the  two  would  make  a  search.  He  couldn't 
go  without  a  horse,  nobody  would  take  him  far,  and 
he  wouldn't  take  himself.  Coke  chatted  cheerfully  or 
sat  in  sympathetic  silence,  and  his  very  presence  was  a 
blessing.  Isabel  put  to  the  test  of  her  faith  now,  clung 
to  the  promises  made  for  mothers.  The  while  the  sunset 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        351 

slipped  into  twilight  and  evening  to  the  shades  of  night, 
and  night  wore  to  morning,  and  still  Mark  did  not  come. 

"Mis'  Darrow,"  Patty  Wren  said,  softly,  as  the  wan 
daylight  came  again,  "  grip  onto  your  faith  a  little  longer 
—  jest  a  little.  Mark  may  git  drownded  some  time,  but 
he's  not  born  to  be  hanged,  that  boy  ain't,  an'  he'll 
come  in  all  right-way-to,  an'  safe.  I  feel  it  in  a  queer 
feelin'  in  the  top  of  my  head,  an'  when  I  git  that  feelin' 
I'm  never  fooled." 

"  It  must  be  a  feeling  deep  in  your  heart,  is  n't  it, 
Patty?"  And  Isabel  smiled  bravely.  "I  am  gripping 
my  faith,  the  faith  that  God  will  do  his  will,  and  his  will 
must  be  mine.  See!  the  sunrise  was  never  more  beau 
tiful!  This  is  our  Father's  kingdom.  He  will  defend 
us." 

And  so,  with  her  face  turned  heavenward,  leaning  on 
Him  who  breaketh  not  the  bruised  reed,  she  began  her 
second  day. 

Meanwhile  Mark  had  left  the  camp  of  the  Pottawato- 
mie  Rifles  just  after  sunset. 

"  Get  pretty  far  east  before  you  turn  north ;  you  won't 
be  so  likely  to  get  into  trouble."  So  the  camp  advised. 
And  to  the  east  Mark  went ;  but  too  far.  A  May  thunder 
storm  was  swinging  up  from  the  southwest,  and  dark 
ness  came  early.  A  mile  from  camp  the  boy  saw  two 
horsemen  in  the  open  plains,  so  he  kept  to  the  ravines, 
which  threw  him  to  the  southeast  continually.  Another 
mile,  and  the  horsemen  were  following  him.  Half 
a  mile  more,  and  he  came  into  the  open  again.  The 
horsemen  were  chasing  him  now,  and  in  the  growing 
darkness  the  storm  cloud  loomed  black  and  angry.  The 
country  was  unknown  to  him,  and  Mark  knew  he  was 
lost. 

"  If  I  dared  let  Cotton  Mather  have  his  own  way,  he  'd 


352  AWALLOFMEN 

take  me  safe  home  some  time  to-night,  but  the  north  is 
cut  off  now.  My  only  chance  is  to  outrun  the  dogs,  and 
then  cut  northeast  and  trust  to  weaving  back  some 
where  close  to  Palmyra." 

Mark  looked  back  at  the  storm  cloud  and  before  him, 
at  the  rough,  unfamiliar  way ;  then  he  patted  the  vicious 
little  beast,  who  cared  nothing  for  caresses. 

"Keep  your  legs  and  I'll  keep  my  head.  We  may 
outrun  'em  yet.  The  storm  is  going  to  hammer  them 
as  hard  as  it  does  us." 

And  then  the  race  began.  A  bullet  whistled  behind 
the  boy  in  token  of  what  he  might  expect,  and  he  rode 
for  his  life.  On  and  on,  to  the  eastward,  he  flew. 
Darker  grew  the  sky  and  fiercer  the  enemies  chasing 
madly  after  an  innocent  boy,  whose  life  they  would  snuff 
out  the  moment  they  had  the  chance  to  do  it. 

A  burst  of  thunder  followed  a  blaze  of  lightning,  and 
the  wind  sailed  into  the  race  where  motion  was  the 
order.  Then  the  storm  came,  threshing  down  on  pur 
sued  and  pursuers.  It  was  pitch  dark  now,  and  Cotton 
Mather,  lost,  as  well  as  his  master,  struck  out  wildly 
and  stubbornly  whither  he  chose.  The  storm  lasted  for 
some  time,  and  when  it  was  over,  Mark  had  no  notion  of 
direction  nor  which  way  his  enemies  might  be.  He 
halted  to  get  his  bearings  and  to  decide  what  course  to 
take.  He  was  drenched  with  the  rain,  and  shivering 
with  cold. 

A  dead  calm  held  for  a  little  space.  A  perfect  flood  of 
lightning  illumined  all  the  place,  and  then  inky  blackness 
enveloped  it  again.  In  that  fierce  light  Mark  saw  two 
horsemen  not  a  hundred  feet  away  looking  at  him.  Then 
he  executed  a  brilliant  maneuver.  In  the  crash  of  thunder 
following  he  swerved  his  pony  to  the  right  and  dashed 
toward  the  two,  passing  them  deftly,  as  they  sprang  in 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        353 

his  direction,  with  two  pistol  shots  hitting  the  dark  where 
he  had  been. 

"They  thought  I'd  run  the  other  way;  I  learned 
better 'n  that  playing  blackman  at  school,  back  in  In 
diana,"  Mark  thought.  "  Let  'em  chase  south ;  I  'm 
going  north,  if  I  can  find  it." 

The  trick  won,  and  Mark  on  the  now  mad  pony  surged 
forward  blindly  for  a  long  way.  The  darkness  lifted,  and 
the  boy  wandered  on,  afraid  to  stop.  At  last  he  struck 
a  rugged  region  that  seemed  to  entangle  him  in  its 
deep,  rocky  recesses,  and  he  could  find  no  way  to  the 
open  country  again.  Farther  and  farther  he  stumbled, 
until  he  found  himself  in  a  ravine  that  narrowed  and 
deepened,  while  its  darkness  was  impenetrable.  It  was 
quiet  here,  with  only  the  woodsy  night  noises  and  the 
trickling  of  water  at  the  bottom. 

Floundering  along  in  the  blackness,  he  struck  the 
water,  and  the  pony's  hoofs  beat  hard  upon  the  shelving 
rock  bottom  of  the  stream.  He  tried  to  turn  back,  but 
failed.  Then  the  stream  bed  flattened  and  broadened, 
with  the  little  run  of  waters  spreading  out  thinly  here 
and  there  upon  it.  The  pony's  feet  sent  out  a  harsh, 
hollow  sound  as  they  struck  the  uneven  places  of  the 
streamlet's  bed. 

Suddenly  a  something  darker  yet  than  anything  in  that 
black  place  leaped  before  him,  and  Cotton  Mather  sat 
back  so  violently  on  his  haunches  that  any  other  boy 
would  have  been  thrown  at  once. 

"What  the  dickens  now?"  Mark  cried,  off  his  guard. 

"Mark  Darrow,  you  fool!  Come  like  a  herd  of  buf 
falo  in  here.  Keep  still!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  White  Turkey,  and  the  boy,  with 
nerves  so  long  held  tense,  slid  from  his  horse  and  caught 
the  Delaware  around  the  neck. 


354  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Stop,"  commanded  the  Indian.    "  Keep  still ! " 

"But  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  Mark  exclaimed. 

White  Turkey  shook  him  off. 

"I  kill  you!"  he  hissed  in  the  boy's  ear;  and  Mark's 
heart  stopped  beating.  "You  keep  still.  Me  get  him 
out  now."  The  tone  was  hardly  audible. 

"Get  who  out?" 

"Elliot.     You  help  him  quick." 

Help  him  quick!  Oh,  yes.  A  wet,  shivering  boy 
tumbled  down  in  a  heap  on  the  wet  stones  of  the  black 
dell  —  a  boy  with  a  ringing  in  his  ears  and  points  of 
light  before  his  eyes,  who  was  only  dimly  conscious  of  the 
sound  of  a  pony's  feet  growing  fainter  as  White  Turkey 
led  it  away  to  a  place  of  safety.  And  all  was  still.  Then 
a  hand  of  steel  suddenly  gripped  his  arms  and  lifted 
him  up. 

"You  come,"  the  Indian  said.    And  Mark  obeyed. 

North  from  the  line  of  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  to-day, 
not  far  from  where  the  village  of  Palmyra  once  stood,  is 
a  picturesque  spot  known  locally  as  Coleman's  Dell. 
It  is  a  rugged  ravine,  with  "rocks,  crags,  and  mounds, 
confusedly  hurled,"  but  on  a  tiny  scale;  a  broken,  cliff- 
walled,  secluded  place  —  a  picnic  ground,  with  sugges 
tion  of  wilderness  tradition,  and  full  of  happy  association 
for  the  care-free  young  college  folk  of  the  nearby  Baker 
University.  Hither  the  students,  sons  and  daughters  of 
a  fearless,  prosperous  people,  come  for  holiday  outings. 
On  the  slabs  of  broken  stone  they  spread  their  sand 
wiches  and  pickles.  In  the  romantic  nooks  they  group 
themselves  fantastically,  hilariously,  becomingly,  for  the 
rapid-firing  kodaks.  Down  the  rough,  rocky  floor,  the 
one-time  bed  of  a  lost  and  forgotten  streamlet,  they  wan 
der  in  the  interests  of  botany  and  geology  and  ento 
mology  and  one  another;  and  then  come  gaily  home 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE          355 

through  the  springtime  moonlight  to  paste  their  trophies 
of  the  day  in  college  memory-books. 

On  that  terror-filled  night,  half  a  century  ago,  when 
Mark  Darrow  rode  his  pony  into  this  dark  dell,  the  sur 
roundings  were  no  less  wild  and  picturesque,  but  in 
place  of  the  heaps  of  broken  strata  one  clambers  over 
to-day,  there  was  a  floor  of  rock,  seamed  and  shelving, 
over  which  the  thread  of  waters  wandered  with  little 
trickling  noises. 

Mark  stumbled  meekly  along  after  the  sure-footed 
Delaware,  conscious  only  of  two  facts;  he  was  with  a 
friend,  and  Elliot  was  alive.  Mark's  hair  was  white  at 
forty-five,  and  he  always  declared  that  the  beginning  of 
its  silvering  was  on  this  night.  In  the  darkness  he  could 
only  feel  his  way  and  trust. 

"I've  got  more  respect  for  you  than  I  have  for  the 
Lord,"  he  whispered,  irreverently,  as  he  groped  about. 
"  I  'd  never  trust  anybody  but  a  Delaware  to  lead  me  in 
here." 

But  White  Turkey  only  grunted  for  silence,  and 
Mark  went  blindly  after  him. 

The  way  narrowed.  Then  it  slipped  into  a  crack  in 
the  walled  side  of  the  ravine.  Blacker  and  rougher  and 
downward  now.  Wet,  slippery,  cold  and  downward  still. 
A  score  of  feet,  they  crept  like  lizards  in  a  crevice  barely 
wider  than  their  bodies,  squeezing  themselves  through 
narrow  spaces.  At  last  they  stood  in  an  opening,  the 
blackest  place  Mark  had  ever  seen.  The  air  was  heavy 
and  damp.  The  stones  were  cold  and  wet,  but  not 
slimy,  and  from  somewhere  came  an  odor  of  smoke. 

"Stay  here!"  the  Indian  commanded. 

"I  won't  need  to  be  hitched,"  Mark  replied. 

A  lighted  candle  gleamed  presently  before  him  and 
he  began  to  get  his  bearings.  He  was  in  a  cavern  of 


356  AWALLOFMEN 

rock,  walls,  roof  and  sides,  a  tiny  chamber  tucked 
snugly  under  the  creek  bed  with  the  water  trickling 
along  overhead.  In  later  years,  by  some  earthquake  or 
other  force,  the  bed  of  the  stream  has  been  broken  into 
jagged  slabs,  and  the  same  roofless  chamber  now  makes 
the  pretty  wild  dell  of  romantic  scenery. 

That  night  it  was  a  hidden  cave,  concealed  by  the 
stream,  dark  and  cold,  and  reached  only  by  a  secret 
tortuous  pathway.  But  it  was  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
to  Mark  Darrow;  for,  before  him  on  a  heap  of  dead 
grasses,  lay  Elliot,  white  and  limp,  his  clothing  torn  and 
mud  soaked,  but  he  was  living  and  conscious. 

"Hello,  Mark!  Are  you  alive?"  Elliot  had  not  lost 
his  smile. 

"  No,  I  've  passed  on ! "  Mark  answered,  carelessly, 
but  he  sat  down  beside  his  brother  and  hid  his  face. 

Elliot  patted  his  cold  hand  in  silence. 

"  How  did  a  big  overgrown  thing  like  you  get  your 
self  through  those  cracks  coming  down?"  Mark  asked, 
at  length. 

"I  didn't  get  myself  here.  I  was  brought.  What 
of  me  they  could  n't  pull  through,  they  left  on  the  other 
side.  It's  a  convenient  system,"  Elliot  said.  "My  left 
leg  was  too  long,  so  they  broke  it  getting  me  in.  I'm 
an  awkward  piece  of  furniture,  it  seems." 

"  You  always  were,"  Mark  said.  But  in  the  dark  he 
wiped  the  tears  from  his  brimming  eyes. 

"Tell  me  how  it  happened,  Ellie."  The  boy's  voice 
was  choked. 

Elliot  related  what  he  remembered  of  the  event  at 
the  Hole  in  the  Rock  on  the  night  before. 

"I  thought  of  a  lot  of  things  after  the  first  blow, 
but  mostly  of  some  camphor  and  turpentine  I'd  failed 
to  get  for  mother,  because  the  ruffians  filled  up 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        357 

Lawrence  and  I  helped  folks  what  I  could.  They  had 
shot  the  horse  and  it  began  to  go  down  under  me,  and 
I  knew  I  was  shipwrecked.  The  last  thing  I  heard  was 
Boniface  Penwin  crying  out  to  stop  somebody,  'Don't 
kill  him  here!  Don't  kill  him  here,'  for  they  must 
have  struck  me  again,  and  I  did  n't  know  anything  for  a 
long  time.  When  I  did  come  to  myself,  I  made  out 
that  I  was  being  taken  somewhere  for  the  finishing  off  — 
some  place  Penwin  was  not  to  be  told  of  —  and  I  was 
to  be  put  where  he  was  never  to  see  nor  know  of  me 
till  I  meet  up  with  him  on  the  Judgment  Day.  I  must 
have  dreamed  that  I  heard  him  say  one  dead  face  was 
all  he  could  stand  at  the  Hole  in  the  Rock." 

"  I  could  stand  that  many  anywhere  if  he  'd  furnish  the 
face,"  Mark  said,  grimly. 

"They  broke  my  leg  getting  me  in,  but  I  broke  the 
fellow's  head  who  did  it,  and  he  had  to  take  himself 
off  to  the  Georgians'  camp.  Then  White  Turkey,  who 
had  been  waiting  for  me  by  the  Hole  in  the  Rock,  but 
got  shut  off  from  warning  me  because  I  was  late,  came 
into  the  game.  He  followed  us  up  here  as  fast  as  he 
could,  and  stampeded  the  other  fellow.  Oh,  I  don't 
remember  it  all.  It  must  have  happened  a  thousand 
years  ago."  And  Elliot  turned  wearily  on  his  pallet  of 
grasses. 

"All  right,  Ellie,  you  are  here.  That's  enough," 
Mark  said,  cheerily. 

"  But  the  rest,"  Elliot  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you  now,  before 
we  go." 

"How  will  we  go  in  the  dark,  Ellie?"  Mark  asked, 
eagerly. 

"Oh,  you  and  White  Turkey  will  help  me  what  I 
can't  help  myself.  He  couldn't  do  it  alone.  Strut  a 
little  now.  He  and  that  ruffian  had  it  out  in  a  pitched 


358  AWALLOFMEN 

battle  all  day  and  half  of  last  night.  The  villain  tried 
to  smoke  us  out  or  get  rid  of  White  Turkey  first,  and 
then  finish  me.  White  Turkey  tried  to  kill  him,  or  get 
us  both  out  together.  He  wouldn't  leave  me  and  take 
the  risk  of  losing  both  of  our  lives.  And  so  long  as  the 
place  was  guarded  outside,  nobody  could  get  in  to  help 
us.  After  dark,  he  slipped  away,  and  we  know  he's 
gone  to  get  help  to  finish  us." 

Elliot  smiled  up  at  Mark,  whose  face  was  drawn  with 
grief. 

"We  thought  it  was  the  Missouri  militia  when  you 
came  thundering  in  on  top  of  us,  Mark,  and  from  weak 
ness  and  loss  of  courage,  I  must  have  sort  of  faded 
away.  I've  not  had  anything  to  eat  since  I  took  din 
ner  at  the  Eldridge  House  opening,  back  in  the  reign  of 
Queen  Anne." 

"Or  Princess  Rosalind,"  Mark  offered. 

"Anyway,  I'm  short  on  dates.  But  now  you  have 
come  with  a  horse,  and  White  Turkey  has  got  some 
kind  of  a  harness  for  this  broken  branch  to  keep  it  staid 
till  we  get  out." 

"Be  quick,"  White  Turkey  said.  "They  get  here 
soon." 

The  Indian  had  been  improvising  a  bandage  of  strips 
of  blanket,  knotted  securely  together. 

"Where  did  you  get  that?"  Elliot  asked,  as  he  helped 
to  adjust  it  about  his  swollen  limb. 

"My  blanket.  Put  in  here  last  winter,'*  the  Dela 
ware  replied. 

"Did  you  bring  it  from  the  little  draw  on  this  side 
of  Lamonds'?"  Elliot  asked. 

The  Indian  nodded. 

Then,  with  all  haste,  and  much  risk  and  suffering  to 
Elliot,  the  three  managed  to  crawl  from  the  cave,  and 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        359 

at  last  reach  the  open  dell,  where  Cotton  Mather  pawed 
viciously,  anxious  to  be  off. 

"  Does  anybody  else  know  of  that  place?  "  Mark  asked, 
when  they  had  gained  the  upland. 

"  Yes.  Pelathe.  Penwin  don't  know.  His  men  think 
nobody  know,  only  them.  Say,  nobody  ever  find  where 
young  white  brave  gone.  Me  fool  white  men.  Ugh ! " 

The  Delaware  grunted  in  disgust. 

The  sunrise,  whose  beauty  Isabel  Darrow  had  noted, 
had  hardly  lost  the  sea-shell  pink  of  dawn,  when  Dr.  St. 
Felix  drove  up  to  the  cedar-hid  cabin  on  the  hill.  His 
face  was  aglow,  but  his  manner  was  reserved. 

"I  come  to  bring  you  good  news,"  he  said,  as  the 
Quaker  woman  greeted  him.  "I've  just  left  your  two 
boys,  both  safe,  but  a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  especially 
Elliot.  They  were  asleep  when  I  left,  but  Mark  will 
be  home  soon  and  Elliot  after  a  little." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  drawled  Patty  Wren.  "  I  knowed 
that  queer  feelin'  wasn't  in  the  top  of  my  head  for 
nothin'.  Never  fooled  me  yit." 

Patty  sat  down  in  the  door  as  if  her  day's  work  was 
done.  Joe  made  no  sound,  but  he  was  standing  on  his 
head  in  the  blue  grass  beside  the  doorway,  in  excess  of 
joy  words  could  not  convey.  Isabel  looked  steadily  at 
Dr.  St.  Felix. 

"  I  understand ;  I  had  a  son  once,"  he  said.  And  then 
he  told  her  of  her  own  boys. 

"They  are  with  the  Hoosier  family  who  came  out 
here  in  November  —  the  Elberts.  Got  there  about  mid 
night,  and  that  Delaware  Indian,  White  Turkey,  came 
right  on  to  Lawrence  for  me.  Elliot  will  be  kept  there 
several  days,  but  Mark  will  be  here  to-day.  Mr.  Elbert 
will  bring  him.  He  will  need  some  care,"  the  doctor 
added,  "  and,  as  Elliot  is  in  good  hands,  I  advise  you  to 


360  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

look  after  Mark  first.  I  brought  Rosalind  down  with 
me,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Elbert  will  not  let  Elliot 
suffer." 

Dr.  St.  Felix  could  not  tell  by  Isabel  Darrow's  face 
what  she  thought,  but  he  knew,  as  a  physician,  what  was 
best  for  her  and  her  sons,  and  he  suggested  his  com 
mands  so  kindly,  they  were  generally  obeyed. 

And  Elliot  was  in  good  hands.  No  more  motherly 
soul  ever  came  out  of  Indiana  than  Mrs.  Elbert,  and 
she  had  known  the  young  Quaker  from  his  childhood. 
Under  her  care  he  gained  so  rapidly,  he  thought  her  a 
little  severe  in  enforcing  the  doctor's  orders,  for  he  was 
impatient  to  be  up  and  doing.  And  yet  the  gentle  touch 
of  Rosalind's  hands  about  his  pillow,  her  quick,  skillful 
ministrations,  made  his  illness  a  pleasure,  until  one  eve 
ning  when  he  was  lying  with  closed  eyes,  dreaming  of 
Beth  Lamond,  Rosalind  had  come  in  softly,  and,  thinking 
he  was  asleep  —  he  lay  so  still  —  she  had  bent  over  the 
white  face  on  the  pillow  and  kissed  his  forehead.  Elliot 
lay  very  still,  thinking  of  the  night  he  had  kissed  Beth 
without  her  consent.  He  wondered  if  Rosalind  would 
feel  as  he  did  then. 

The  next  afternoon  she  left,  and  he  felt  her  absence 
keenly,  she  was  such  a  comfortable  friend,  yet  he  was 
glad  to  have  her  go.  She  was  hardly  away  before  he 
heard  a  voice  in  the  other  room  of  the  cabin,  and  he  for 
got  Rosalind  in  the  joy  of  his  hungry  heart. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Elbert  was  saying,  "he's  doing  fine. 
He's  asleep  now,  so  we  can  say  anything  we  want  to. 
But  how  could  he  help  doing  well?  That  little  French 
girl,  who  came  down  from  Lawrence,  just  seemed  to 
know  exactly  what  he  wanted,  and  he  did  enjoy  her." 

Mrs.  Elbert  never  saw  two  young  people  together 
without  building  a  romance  for  them.  And  the  things 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        361 

her  own  colorless  life  had  starved  for,  she  played  up 
in  imagination  for  others. 

"But  girls  always  did  like  Ellie  Darrow,"  she  went 
on,  for  Beth  was  a  good  listener.  "  I  've  known  him  all 
his  life,  and  even  as  a  little  boy  the  girls  were  crazy 
about  him." 

In  the  other  room,  Elliot  groaned  silently. 

"  Just  like  his  mother,"  his  hostess  continued.  "  She 
was  the  belle  of  her  day.  I  just  know  he'll  make  a 
match  with  that  little  Miss  St.  Felix,  unless  the  other 
girls  work  hard.  They  say  the  Lawrence  girls  are  all 
crazy  over  him,  and  my  niece  is  coming  from  college 
out  here  next  month  —  well,  he  always  did  like  her.  She 
was  his  first  sweetheart.  But  that  French  girl's  got 
the  inside  track,  because  he 's  going  to  be  a  doctor,  and 
she's  pretty  near  one.  And  then,  would  you  believe  it" 
—  her  voice  dropped  low,  so  only  Beth  could  hear — "I 
saw  her  kiss  him  last  evenin'.  He  was  asleep  and  never 
knew  it,  and  she  did  n't  want  him  to,  I  don't  suppose.  But 
say,"  in  a  louder  tone,  "  don't  you  want  to  go  in  and  look 
at  him?" 

"No,  I  think  not,"  Beth  said. 

A  hot  tear  stole  down  Elliot's  cheek,  and  he  turned 
his  face  away  in  shame  and  sorrow. 

"Yes,  just  run  in.  He's  asleep.  He's  dressed  and 
propped  up  comfortable  on  the  lounge.  Maybe  you 
wouldn't  mind  watching  by  him  a  half  hour,  while  I 
knead  out  my  dough  to  raise.  I  'm  behind  with  it  now." 

And  good-hearted  Mrs.  Elbert  pushed  Beth  into  the 
sick-room,  more  from  her  love  of  romantic  situations 
than  from  any  notion  of  Elliot's  needs. 

Beth  had  come  out  of  neighborly  courtesy,  she  told 
herself,  and  she  had  pledged  herself  not  to  speak  to 
Elliot  because  of  her  father's  will.  The  words  of  Mrs. 


362  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Elbert  had  cut  her  all  the  more  deeply  because  she 
looked  hopelessly  now  toward  her  own  future.  And 
here,  before  either  one  had  thought  it  possible,  she  was 
beside  him. 

Elliot's  face  was  white  and  marked  with  the  pain 
he  had  undergone,  but  his  dark  eyes  glowed  with  a  glad 
light,  and  he  smiled  radiantly  up  at  Beth. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  he  said.  "  I  'm 
harmless.  You  wouldn't  abuse  a  fellow  when  he  can't 
fight  back,  would  you?" 

He  was  making  things  so  easy  for  her.  She  put  out 
her  hand  and  Elliot  grasped  it  quickly,  but  it  was  the 
handclasp  of  a  friend. 

"  I  was  so  anxious  to  hear  from  you,"  she  began. 

"Sit  down,  won't  you?  The  dough  needs  working, 
and  I  must  have  somebody  to  look  after  me."  There  was 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  he  made  room  for  her  beside  him. 

"  Such  a  popular  fellow  ought  not  lack  for  attention," 
Beth  replied,  mischievously. 

Elliot  groaned  aloud. 

"There  be  things  worse  than  a  broken  tibia  and  a 
wrenched  ankle,  but  I  won't  complain,"  he  said. 

"  It  might  be  worse.  After  to-day,  the  dear,  good  soul 
will  have  me  added  to  the  list,"  Beth  said.  Then  both 
were  silent. 

When  the  girl  spoke  again,  there  was  a  firmness  in 
her  voice. 

"  Elliot,  I  ought  not  come  here,  I  am  untrue  to  father ; 
and  if  I  am  false  to  him,  I  will  be  to  others." 

There  was  a  sweet  womanliness  about  her  that  made 
the  charm  of  her  girlish  face  doubly  dear  to  the  young 
man  beside  her.  Quickly,  for  her  strength  of  will  was 
failing  her,  she  told  the  contents  of  her  father's  letter. 

"And  you  believe  that  story?"  he  asked. 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        363 

"Not  about  the  treachery  to  the  Free-State  cause. 
But,  Elliot,  are  you  really  trying  to  make  Rosalind  St. 
Felix  care  for  you?" 

It  would  take  little  effort,  she  thought,  to  make  any 
girl  do  that. 

"Do  you  think,  Elizabeth,  that  I  would  do  that?" 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  and  the  love-light  in 
them  made  up  to  Beth  for  all  the  sorrow  and  doubt  of 
the  days  just  past.  It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  have 
the  love  of  such  a  man.  She  could  believe  all  that  Mrs. 
Elbert  had  said. 

The  dough-board  was  thumping  on  the  kitchen  table. 
The  house  was  very  still.  Outside  the  landscape  was 
brimming  over  with  the  June  sunshine.  A  cool  breeze 
was  playing  in  through  the  open  door  and  Beth,  with  her 
golden  hair  and  her  deep  gray  eyes,  over  which  the 
long  black  lashes  drooped  now;  and  Elliot,  with  all  his 
young  red-blooded  manhood  of  strength  and  honor  — 
somehow  these  things  made  the  plain  cabin  a  place  these 
two  might  never  forget. 

"  Elliot,  father  is  in  prison,"  Beth  said. 

"So  am  I,"  Elliot  answered. 

"But  how  can  you  ever  make  him  understand?"  the 
girl  said,  pleadingly. 

"I'm  never  going  to  try,  nor  would  you  want  me  to, 
dearie."  How  gentle  his  tones  were !  "  Elizabeth,  the 
men  who  battle  for  this  State  to  make  it  gloriously  free 
are  not  discouraged  with  one  defeat.  Their  cause  is  just, 
and  they  bide  their  time.  So  is  mine,  and  I  bide  my  time. 
If  you  will  let  me,"  he  added,  softly.  "But,  Beth,  you 
and  I  must  keep  our  faith,  or  break  it  now.  My  prom 
ise  to  wait  your  time,  and  your  promise  to  your  father 
are  secondary  bonds,  time  limits  only.  I  believe  it  will 
be  given  to  me  to  prove  myself  worthy  in  your  father's 


364  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

eyes,  if  I  am  true  to  you.  But  if  I  am  worthy  in  your 
eyes,  Beth,  I  shall  be  satisfied.  If  the  test  comes  and 
you  must  choose  between  us,  which  bond  at  last  is  to 
be  unbreakable?  Shall  I  give  you  back  the  locket  then, 
or  hang  it  on  the  little  chain  and  let  you  keep  both  for 
my  sake?" 

He  folded  his  arms  as  if  to  shut  her  out,  and  waited. 
She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  glorious  light  in  her  darkly 
flashing  eyes. 

"Elliot  Darrow,  at  the  last  test,  it  is  my  home,  my 
hope,  my  life,  that  belongs  to  me.  All  other  promises 
must  give  way  before  one  alone.  The  unbreakable  bond 
is  between  us  two.  I  shall  keep  the  gold  chain  and  — 
when  the  time  comes  —  maybe  you  will  put  the  locket 
on  it.  It  is  yours  to  give  now,  for  I  have  given  it  to  you, 
the  only  one  to  whom  my  father  said  it  might  be  given." 

She  reached  out  her  hands  to  him,  and  he  took  them 
hungrily. 

"  Till  death  us  do  part,"  he  said,  softly.  "  Henceforth, 
there  are  to  be  no  more  doubts." 

"Elliot,  I  must  go  now.    May  I  tell  you  something?" 

"You  don't  need  to  go  to  do  it?"  Elliot  replied. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  must  tell  you  and  run.  Mrs.  Elbert 
told  me  that  she  saw  Rosalind  kiss  you  when  you  were 
asleep,  and  didn't  know  it." 

"I  wasn't  asleep,  and  I  did  know  it.  But  I  would 
never  have  told  it,"  Elliot  said.  "  Do  you  think  you 
would  have  done  as  much  for  me  if  you  had  been  in  her 
place?" 

"I  don't  think —  know  I  would  not,"  Beth  declared. 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  have  let  you,  anyhow,"  Elliot  said, 
with  serious  countenance. 

"But,  Elliot,  has  your  nurse  that  right?"  Beth  asked, 
earnestly. 


THE    ENDURING    PROMISE        365 

"No,  Elizabeth;  I  kissed  somebody  once  when  I  had 
no  right  to  do  it.  If  Rosalind  feels  as  I  did,  I  pity  her. 
She  is  an  impulsive  girl,  but  good  as  gold.  I  am  not 
vain  enough  to  think  she  would  think  seriously  about 
me  very  long  unless  I  encouraged  her,  which  I  am  not 
contemptible  enough  to  do.  For,  dearie,  you  women  may 
think  you  feel  unhappy  when  you  cannot  care  for  some 
man  who  wants  you  to,  but  I  don't  believe  you  can 
know  how  a  man  feels  when  the  same  thing  comes  to. 
him.  You  can  be  coldly  courteous  and  still  be  a  lady. 
A  man  can't  do  that  always  and  be  a  gentleman.  Don't 
misunderstand  Rosalind.  She  will  never  throw  herself 
where  she  is  n't  wanted.  But  —  well,  I  have  a  locket  to 
keep  untarnished.  My  honor,  likewise,  is  something  I 
must  not  blacken." 

Beth  was  standing  now  and  Elliot  held  her  hand  in 
good-bye  as  if  he  could  not  let  her  go. 

"I'll  keep  my  word  to  you,  and  you  will  be  true  to 
your  promise  to  your  father.  But  that  cannot  keep  me 
from  reading  a  message  for  me  in  beautiful  gray  eyes, 
when  I  can  look  into  them  now  and  then.  And  it  must 
be  that  I  shall  be  a  better  man,  because  I  cannot  have 
my  own  way  now."  One  long  handclasp,  and  then  Elliot 
smiled  up  at  Beth.  "The  oven  door  is  slamming,  so 
the  bread  is  shelved.  I  think  it  ought  to  have  been 
kneaded  more,  don't  you?" 

And  the  two  turned  to  Mrs.  Elbert,  who  now  had 
food  for  a  new  romance. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
BROKEN  BONDS 

It  matters  not  how  straight  the  gate, 
How  charged  with  punishment  the  scroll, 

I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul. 

—  Henley. 

TJ^LLIOTS  recovery  was  rapid  —  because  the  girls 
•*— *  came  to  see  him,  and  cheered  him,  so  his  nurse, 
Mrs.  Elbert,  said;  because  he  had  studied  medicine  and 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  himself,  in  the  pride  of  his 
youth,  he  thought,  but  he  did  not  say  it ;  because  he  was 
in  vigorous  health,  and  strong  by  inheritance,  Dr.  St. 
Felix  averred.  But  his  mother,  in  her  secret  place  of 
prayer,  with  her  Madonna  face  lifted  heavenward,  gave 
the  praise  to  Him  from  whom  come  all  good  and  perfect 
gifts. 

Elliot  brought  no  suit  for  assault  with  intent  to  kill, 
although  he  knew  each  of  the  three  men  who  had  lain 
in  wait  for  him  by  the  Hole  in  the  Rock.  Suit  in  the 
civil  court  at  Lawrence,  with  Sheriff  Jones  sent  to  arrest 
his  would-be  assassins!  Jones  in  civil  court  could  not 
have  proved  that  he  was  not  himself  accessory  to  the 
same  crime !  There  was  no  law  in  Kansas  in  those  days 
whereby  a  Free-State  man  might  guard  his  own  life, 
save  the  law  of  a  muscular  arm,  a  ready  brain,  and 
nimble  heels.  These  failing,  the  loaded  musket  and  the 
sharpened  bayonet  must  be  the  law  of  protection.  More 
over,  the  summer  that  followed  the  Pottawatomie  Mas- 

366 


BROKEN     BONDS  367 

sacre  was  one  of  unparalleled  strife.  In  the  archives  of 
history  it  is  recorded  that  the  sack  of  Lawrence  was  to 
be  followed  with  the  wholesale  sweeping  of  the  Territory 
by  the  Pro-Slavery  forces.  Burning  for  property,  ban 
ishment  for  families,  and  bullets  for  all  who  remained 
against  orders !  The  burning  and  banishment  had  already 
begun,  as  well  as  the  firing  of  many  a  murderous  bullet. 
A  general  massacre  of  settlers  in  the  Territory  was  only 
a  night  or  two  away,  when  John  Brown  and  his  six  fol 
lowers  fell  upon  the  Pottawatomie  and  slew  five  men. 
With  all  that  had  gone  before  of  boast  and  swagger  and 
sneer  and  threat,  and  with  crimes  unnamable  behind 
them,  the  slaying  of  these  five  ruffians  by  seven  Free- 
State  men  seems  a  mere  hint  at  retaliation.  But  it  threw 
such  consternation  into  every  Pro-Slavery  camp  that  the 
old  prophecy  of  one  putting  a  thousand  to  flight,  and  two 
routing  ten  thousand,  seemed  more  than  a  figure  of  rhet 
oric.  It  is  marvelous  even  now,  when  the  rancor  of  it  all 
is  but  a  memory,  that  the  shock  should  have  been  so  tre 
mendous  to  men  already  past-masters  in  such  methods  of 
controlling  a  Territory.  And  it  will  be  the  calm  judg 
ment  of  all  future  years  that  the  first  and  most  decisive 
blow  struck  for  freedom  in  the  West  fell  on  the  night  of 
the  Pottawatomie  Massacre. 

It  was  but  the  natural  law  that  revenge  should  strike 
hardest  at  John  Brown.  He  was  the  foe  of  all  foes  to 
be  dreaded.  And  through  all  the  summer  days  of  that 
eventful  year,  the  Pro-Slavery  powers  were  alternately 
hunting  for  him  or  fleeing  from  him.  The  mere  an 
nouncement  that  John  Brown  was  heading  toward  a  com 
munity  sent  panic  and  terror  to  the  forces  opposing  him. 
One  son  he  had  seen  shot  down  in  this  mad  strife, 
and  one  was  driven  insane  from  torture.  But  old  John 
Brown  stayed  not  his  hands  from  fighting  any  more.  For 


368  AWALLOFMEN 

these  were  the  days  of  peril  and  power  in  the  building  of 
a  State. 

Across  the  Vinland  Valley  and  beyond  its  borders,  the 
Kansas  warfare  was  waged,  while  June  ran  into  July  and 
July  melted  into  August,  and  none  could  prophesy  what 
a  day  would  bring  forth.  Black  Jack,  Franklin,  Pal 
myra,  Hickory  Point,  Osawatomie,  and  with  lesser  vio 
lence  Bull  Creek,  Ottawa  Creek,  Prairie  City,  and  other 
and  yet  other  names  are  marks  for  the  shrines  of  a  rev 
erent  generation  for  whose  defence  and  strength  to-day 
there  was  reared 

A  wall  of  men 
On  Freedom's  Southern  line, 
a  half  century  ago. 

In  this  summer's  strife  it  fell  to  Elliot  Darrow  and 
Coke  Wren  to  lead  in  the  defensive  action.  Elliot  was 
too  much  of  a  Quaker  to  take  the  field  with  John  Brown. 
He  stayed  by  the  valley  in  its  need  for  protection,  and 
between  times  he  was  a  farmer.  Not  so  Mark  Darrow. 
With  a  man's  strength  and  a  boy's  impetuous  spirit,  he 
had  flung  himself  into  the  fray  from  the  night  of  the 
Pottawatomie  Massacre. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  when  he  heard  the  first  call,  "  I  'm 
going  to  John  Brown.  Thee  will  let  me,  for  I  cannot 
stay  away."  He  had  his  arms  about  his  mother,  and 
his  voice  was  winning.  "  I  have  wanted  to  be  with  that 
man  since  the  day  I  saw  him  up  on  the  bluff,  when  we 
were  nutting  in  October." 

Isabel  put  her  hands  on  either  side  of  his  face  and 
studied  the  boy-spirit  back  of  it. 

"I  know  it,  Mark.  I  knew  it  that  night,  when  John 
Brown  stayed  with  us  —  the  night  Jupe  came  here,  and 
White  Turkey.  Thee  is  a  Quaker,  Mark." 


BROKEN     BONDS  369 

"Yes,  secondarily,  I  am;  primarily,  I'm  Mark  Dar- 
row,  and  I  must  fight  out  my  own  course  just  like  Will 
iam  Penn  fought  his;  in  my  own  way,  I  mean.  Does 
thee  suppose,  mother,  that  we  are  all  to  follow  one  line? 
The  Quakers  have  been  persecuted  long  enough.  I  'm 
going  to  do  some  of  the  persecuting  now.  It 's  the  only 
way  to  make  history.  Watch  for  the  future  annals  of 
Kansas.  See  Mark  Darrow's  name  writ  large." 

"By  the  grand  jury?"  Joe  queried. 

But  Isabel  spoke  earnestly. 

"  My  boy,  go  thy  own  way.  I  am  willing  thee  should, 
not  because  I  think  thee  is  right,  but  because  thee  thinks 
thee  is.  And  if  thee  must  turn  persecutor  —  do  it  well, 
but  mercifully,  dearie.  The  only  real  joy  in  conquest  is 
the  memory  of  kindness  to  the  conquered.  And  God 
give  thee  victory." 

And  so  Mark  went  his  own  way. 

With  the  advent  of  Governor  Geary,  in  September, 
David  Lamond  and  Hiram  Darrow  at  Lecompton  re 
turned  to  the  Vinland  Valley,  and  Winthrop  Merriford 
came  back  to  Lawrence.  Coke  Wren,  who  during  his 
stay  at  Lecompton  did  not  mention  his  fishing  experience, 
now  hastened  to  Lawrence. 

"  Merriford,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  he  drawled.  "Always 
glad  to  see  you,  in  jail  or  out.  What  be  you  goin'  to 
drive  at  first,  now?  " 

Coke's  face  was  veiled  in  stupid  indifference,  but  the 
lawyer  scented  a  leading. 

"I'm  going  to  settle  affairs  here.  They  have  been 
neglected  for  months,  nearly  all  the  year,  in  fact.  Then 
I'm  going  to  start  out  and  not  come  back  until  I  find 
Neil  Merriford." 

"Hm!"  Coke  ejaculated  sympathetically.    "I  want  to 


370  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

know.  Say,"  after  a  pause,  "  where 's  that  nigger,  Jupiter 
St.  Augustine  Penwin  Roxbury,  LL.D.,  T-Y-ty?" 

"  Sitting  by  the  back  door  here,  listening  to  us,  I  sup 
pose,"  Merriford  answered  wearily.  "  I  am  about  ready 
to  give  him  up." 

"An*  you  a  lawyer,  an'  smart  in  spite  of  it.  I'm 
surprised  at  you.  But,  Merriford,  I've  come  to  help  a 
little  with  this  Neil  business." 

"Can  you?"     Winthrop  Merriford's  face  brightened. 

Coke  carefully  unrolled  a  package  from  its  wrappings 
and  displayed  a  somewhat  rusted  revolver. 

"I  went  fishin*  down  at  the  Hole  in  the  Rock  last 
May,"  he  drawled.  Then  his  tone  changed.  "I  found 
this  right  near  the  edge,  on  a  little  shelf  runnin*  'round 
about  a  foot  down  below  the  surface.  Patty  and  me 
worked  hours  to  clean  it.  Then  I  brought  it  up  here  to 
see  if  that  bullet  I  brought  you'd  fit  it.  It  does.  But 
you  was  gone  to  Lecompton  for  your  summer  outing." 
Coke  had  to  joke  to  break  the  pressure  of  his  thoughts. 
"  So  I  've  put  in  the  summer  follerin'  this  thing  up.  It 
was  easier 'n  tendin'  a  crop,  with  a  gun  in  each  boot-leg 
an'  a  knife  in  your  teeth.  They's  a  name  on  the  plate 
there  on  the  handle.  Where  'd  you  say  Neil  went?  " 

Coke  laid  the  revolver  on  the  lawyer's  desk  and  looked 
meditatively  out  of  the  door. 

With  trembling  hand,  Winthrop  Merriford  took  the 
weapon  and  turned  it  to  the  light.  In  the  silver  plate 
on  the  handle  he  saw  the  letters  — 

NEIL  MERRIFORD, 
BOSTON,  MASS. 

"  Tell  me,  Wren,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"You  tell  me  first,  Merriford,  an'  then  we'll  line  up 
for  somethinY* 


BROKEN     BONDS  371 

"I've  little  to  tell  you,  Coke,  that  you  don't  know. 
The  year  Neil  graduated  he  became  engaged  to  a  beauti 
ful  girl  from  Georgia.  Her  name  was  Tarleton,  Lucy 
Tarleton.  Last  year  Neil  went  South  to  marry  her.  He 
wrote  me  a  line,  just  a  line,  to  say  there  was  trouble  he 
could  not  explain,  and  that  he  would  go  back  to  Boston 
alone.  Then  he  quit  writing.  Our  Wakarusa  War  was 
on,  and,  you  remember,  I  went  back  East  just  after  our 
peace-party.  The  day  I  left,  Dr.  St.  Felix  called  me  into 
his  office  and  we  had  a  long  conversation.  He  knew  Miss 
Tarleton  very  well,  and  he  also  knew  Neil  —  met  him  in 
Atlanta.  And  he  told  me  his  fears  for  what  I  found  was 
true.  When  I  reached  Boston  Neil  had  disappeared.  He 
came  into  Atlanta  last  September,  and  he  acted  strangely, 
as  if  his  mind  was  burdened.  Then  he  dropped  out  of 
sight."  The  lawyer  ceased  and  turned  the  revolver  in 
his  hands. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  Wren  asked. 

"  No,  one  thing  more.    Miss  Tarleton  is  dead." 

"  Hm !  I  want  to  know,"  Coke  said  sympathetically, 
and  the  lawyer  continued. 

"  I  came  home,  intending  to  attend  to  matters  here  and 
then  to  go  South  myself.  Before  I  could  get  away  there 
was  a  price  put  on  my  head  in  Missouri  because  I  am 
connected  with  the  New  England  Emigrant  Aid  Society, 
and  then  they  got  me  on  a  writ  of  'Conventional  Treason' 
and  I  've  been  shut  up  in  that  tent  bastile  at  Lecompton. 
Now  I  am  going  to  run  this  thing  down.  Can  you  help 
me?  I  know  you  can.  Coke  Wren,  I  knew  your  father 
before  you.  There  was  never  a  shrewder,  more  honest, 
nor  more  kindly  family  in  all  New  England  than  the 
Wrens.  I  know  you  have  come  to  help  me." 

"Oh,  the  Wrens  are  well  enough.  I'm  the  only  one 
ever  got  in  jail  —  the  Aaron  Burr  of  the  family.  That 's 


372  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  blot  onto  our  scutchin,  but  I  'm  hoping  the  scutchin 
can  stand  a  dab  or  two.  Treason  ain't  so  bad  when 
they's  a  lot  of  traitors,  an*  suitable  chaperons." 

Then  Coke  grew  serious. 

"  Tell  me  all  you  know  about  that  Senegambian,  Jupe," 
he  said. 

"Jupe  ran  away  from  Georgia  because  he  was  sold  to 
a  man  he  feared.  Came  to  our  house,  as  you  know,  and 
we  fed  him.  Then  he  saved  Neil's  life  on  the  Charles 
River  when  his  boat  capsized.  Neil  always  had  a  horror 
of  water,  although  he  was  brought  up  beside  the  ocean. 
When  Jupe's  overseer  came  after  him  the  next  day,  Neil 
protected  Jupe  and  he  kept  his  freedom."  The  lawyer 
paused. 

"But  after  that,  Merriford?"  Coke  asked.  "Why  did 
he  go  South  again?" 

"  The  same  thing  that  took  Neil  there  took  this  black 
man  also  —  the  love  of  a  woman."  Merriford's  face  was 
full  of  pathos.  "Jupe's  wife  was  still  in  bondage,  and 
he  said  he  would  bring  her  North  or  stay  with  her  until 
he  was  sold  again  and  forced  to  go.  Coke  Wren,  if 
slavery  had  no  other  curse,  the  curse  that  will  fall  upon 
this  nation  for  its  utter  disregard  of  marriage  vows  for 
the  enslaved  race  will  surely  bring  down  God's  vengeance 
on  us." 

"But  the  outcome?"  Coke  queried. 

"Jupe  says  his  wife  is  dead.  So  is  Miss  Tarleton. 
Jupe's  last  master  was  Boniface  Penwin.  It  was  Rox- 
bury's  overseer  who  came  to  Boston  after  him.  Now  he 
declares  he  is  free,  and  he  is  entirely  secure  in  his  own 
mind.  Some  sense  of  duty,  I  believe,  keeps  his  lips  closed. 
Roxbury  is  with  Buford  now.  That 's  all  I  Ve  been  able 
to  find  out.  There  is  more  to  come,  as  soon  as  I  can  give 
it  the  time.  Now  it 's  your  turn,  Wren." 


BROKEN    BONDS  373 

The  lawyer  smiled  faintly  on  the  little  Yankee. 

Coke  Wren  was  only  five  feet  three  inches,  "from 
beak  to  feet,"  as  Patty  had  said.  He  was  thin  and  wiry 
and  homely.  He  was  not  rich  nor  highly  educated,  and 
his  occupation  in  life  was  to  till  the  soil.  But  he  came 
of  staunch  old  New  England  stock,  and  blood  will  tell. 
He  was  honest,  frugal,  clever  in  his  financial  dealings, 
and  abundantly  kind-hearted.  But  his  gift  was  shrewd 
penetration  and  quick,  accurate  judgment.  And  his  name 
was  his  bond  no  less  in  those  years  than  when  in  a 
later  time  it  stood  at  the  head  of  the  large  banking  busi 
ness  his  genius  made  widely  influential.  But  he  never 
looked  like  a  bank  president.  No  more  did  he  on  that 
day  seem  able  to  unravel  a  tangled  mystery  for  the 
keenest  mind  in  the  Territory.  He  sat  in  meditation 
for  a  while,  then  he  said: 

"I  can  save  you  some  time.  Call  in  the  followin', 
to-wit:  Jupiter  Roxbury,  nigger;  White  Turkey,  Dela 
ware  Injun;  Pelathe,  Shawnee  Injun;  Dr.  Pierre  St. 
Felix,  pro-slavery  man  an'  gentleman;  Elliot  Darrow, 
Quaker,  game-cock.  He 's  over  to  St.  Felix's  office  now, 
analyzin'  specimens  with  Miss  St.  Felix.  They'll  keep. 
Bring  him  and  Doc  together.  Jupe's  outside  the  back 
door.  The  Injuns  are  down  by  the  Kaw,  fishin'  and 
waitin'  to  be  called  up  here.  They 's  two  more  I  've  got 
on  the  bait  if  they  get  into  town  to-day.  If  not,  to-mor 
row '11  do.  Merriford,  I  believe  we  can  settle  this  here 
in  a  couple  of  hours,  all  except  fixin*  the  blame.  The 
Coroner's  got  to  do  that.  But  what  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  convince  'em  all  that  a  bad  promise  is  better  broken 
ef  life  and  justice  are  in  the  balance." 

Merriford  grasped  Wren's  hand. 

"You  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,  Coke  Wren,"  he  said 
huskily. 


374  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Yep,  I  look  like  a  codfish  or  herring,  I  know."  The 
glass  of  the  open  door  made  a  sort  of  mirror  against  the 
wall,  and  Coke  grinned  at  his  own  reflection  there.  But 
tears  were  glistening  in  his  eyes,  for  all  his  joking. 

In  a  few  minutes  all  those  named  for  summoning  were 
lined  up  in  the  lawyer's  office,  waiting  to  follow  the 
leading  of  the  little  Yankee. 

Across  the  street  a  red-roan  horse  stood  hitched. 
Presently,  around  the  corner,  behind  the  livery  stable, 
two  men  from  Buford's  camp  tied  their  horses  and, 
instead  of  coming  to  the  main  street,  strolled  down  the 
alley  to  the  nearest  saloon.  They  were  Roxbury,  the 
Atlanta  gambler,  and  Jack  Bobbs,  his  henchman. 

Inside  Merriford's  office  Wren  was  first  to  speak. 

"Gentlemen,  we  are  here  in  the  interests  of  a  fellow- 
citizen,  Winthrop  Merriford,  who  has  been  a  blessin'  to 
this  Territory  from  the  minute  he  came  into  it,  and  the 
friend  an*  helper  of  all  of  us.  Now  it's  our  time  to  do 
a  little  for  him,  not  because  he  deserves  our  help  alone, 
but  because  the  thing  before  us  is  a  human  interest ;  an' 
the  rights  and  wrongs  of  human  business  is  our  common 
business  while  we  're  on  the  Lord's  footstool.  Merriford, 
teir'em  what  you've  told  me  'bout  your  son,  Neil." 

Briefly,  the  lawyer  retold  the  story. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  when  he  had  finished,  "if  any 
of  you  know  anything  that  will  help  me  to  unravel  this 
thing  more  quickly  than  I  can  do  it  alone,  in  God's  name, 
tell  me  now.  If  you  are  bound  by  any  pledge  whose 
breaking  would  be  a  greater  crime  than  the  crime  against 
my  son's  life,  then  I  do  not  ask  you  to  say  one  word. 
But  if  you  are  bound  by  bonds  of  fear  or  necessity,"  —  he 
was  looking  at  Jupe  now,  —  "if  you  are  holding  to  a 
promise  whose  breaking  would  mean  a  lesser  crime,  then 
remember  that  most  of  the  great  evils  in  this  world  havo 


BROKEN    BONDS  375 

grown  out  of  the  poor  judgment  of  men  in  choosing  the 
lesser  of  two  principles  of  right  rather  than  their  delib 
erate  choice  of  wrong.  St.  Felix,  are  you  willing  to  help 
me  here?" 

Dr.  St.  Felix's  dark  face  was  very  grave  as  he  said : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  'm  a  Georgian,  with  all  the  loyalty  of  a 
Southern  man  to  the  institutions  of  my  inheritance  and 
teachings.  But  I  have  lived  in  Kansas  long  enough  to 
see  how  terribly  the  North  and  the  South  misjudge  each 
other.  I  did  n't  come  here  to  try  to  force  this  State  into 
the  ranks  of  the  Southern  States,  although  I  shall  give 
my  vote  for  the  establishment  of  slavery  here.  In  my 
judgment,  it  is  the  only  way  to  control  the  race.  You 
knew  my  views  from  the  first,  yet  the  stanchest  Free 
State  man,  the  rankest  Abolitionist  among  you,  has  never 
failed  to  show  me  all  courtesy.  And  I  hope  I  have  not 
been  lacking  altogether  in  my  duty  to  you.  All  this  is 
to  show  into  what  evil  hands  the  swing  of  affairs  may 
fall.  You  cannot  judge  my  South  by  Buford's  men, 
although  I  must  confess  that  Buford  and  other  leaders 
are  accounted  among  our  good  citizens." 

"St.  Felix,  may  God  hasten  the  day  when  we  shall 
know  more  of  your  kind  of  Southern  men  and  they  may 
know  us,"  Merriford  said. 

"But  that  is  not  my  business  here  now,"  St.  Felix 
continued.  "  I  came  to  Kansas  to  get  away  from  a  city 
where  my  life  had  been  unhappy,  and  to  follow  up  one 
man  and  bring  him  to  the  justice  he  deserves.  We  French 
people  may  feel  things  in  a  way  you  colder-blooded 
Northern  folk  do  not.  I'll  be  brief.  I  had  a  son  I 
loved  —  well,  you  understand,  Merriford.  He  met  and 
admired  Lucy  Tarleton  Penwin,  sister  to  Colonel  Boni 
face  Penwin,  —  your  Lucy  Tarleton,  Merriford." 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  the  lawyer.    "  You  can't  mean  it." 


376  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Yes ;  Lucy  would  not  keep  the  name  when  she  went 
North.  I  '11  tell  you  why.  My  son,  Pierre,  met  her  and 
loved  her,  for  she  was  made  for  that.  She  was  fond  of 
him.  I  believe  she  would  have  loved  him  some  time. 
But  Pierre  loved  her  madly.  He  didn't  suit  Boniface; 
he  was  not  rich  enough.  Boniface  has  been  a  spender 
all  his  life,  and  he  was  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  but  he  would 
not  retrench.  He  never  will.  To  be  brief  again,  he  led 
my  boy  astray  —  set  him  to  gambling  in  Roxbury's  den, 
a  gilded  hell  in  Atlanta.  The  stake,  if  he  won  enough  to 
suit  the  Colonel,  was  to  be  Lucy's  hand.  He  lost.  He 
took  his  own  life  because  of  it.  The  St.  Felix  blood  is 
impulsive." 

St.  Felix  paused,  and  Elliot,  looking  at  him,  saw  a 
tragedy  the  years  might  bring  to  himself,  and  he  set  his 
purpose  firm. 

"  Little  Rosalind  shall  never  suffer  by  me,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  I  can  see  where  this  might  end.  I  must 
end  it  now." 

"I  had  only  one  son,"  St.  Felix  went  on. 

"  Lucy  Penwin  went  North,  not  heart-broken,  for  she 
had  only  liked  Pierre.  She  changed  her  name,  dropping 
the  Penwin,  in  her  anger  and  sorrow,  and  the  temporary 
notoriety  in  Atlanta.  I  believe  she  did  love  Neil  Merri- 
ford  as  —  he  deserved.  Darrow,  you  look  much  like  Neil." 

"Yes,  they  are  related.  His  father  and  I  unraveled 
that  at  Lecompton,"  Merriford  explained.  "  Go  on." 

"  Penwin  gambled  more  and  more,  losing  to  despera 
tion  at  last.  He  had  several  slaves.  One,  Jupe,  here, 
and  his  wife,  he  had  promised  never  to  sell,  for  they 
were  really  Lucy's  by  inheritance,  and  she  was  devoted 
to  them." 

Jupe  clasped  his  big  black  hands,  and  his  face  was 
drawn  with  grief. 


BROKEN    BONDS  377 

"  Roxbury  was  Penwin's  evil  magnet.  And  at  last  he 
put  up  Jupe  in  his  need  for  money,  and  Roxbury 
won.  I  believe,  Merriford,  Jupe  would  better  tell  the 
rest." 

St.  Felix  looked  wearied  and  stricken,  not  only  with 
the  memory  of  his  own  sorrow,  but  with  the  grief  of  his 
friend  as  well. 

Jupe  rose  to  his  full  height,  and  there  was  something 
pitiful  in  his  child-like  manner,  so  grotesquely  out  of 
keeping  with  his  tremendous  strength.  But  to  the  stu 
dent  of  human  nature  there  was  a  dignity  about  him 
that  commanded  respect. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  courtesy,  "I  made  a 
promise  to  save  my  life.  I  sold  myself  for  my  freedom. 
I  've  been  a  bigger  slave  these  months  in  Kansas  than 
in  all  the  years  of  my  life  down  Souf.  I  thought  I  could 
keep  my  word  an'  write  what  I  know  and  it  would  be  all 
right.  I  learn  to  read  an'  write,  so  I  'd  find  how  to  break 
my  bondage.  What  I  learn  tells  me  if  I  write  I  break 
my  promise  same  as  if  I  speak  it  with  the  words  of  my 
mouf.  So  I  is  no  nearer  out  of  bondage  'n  I  was  before  I 
learned  readin'  an'  writin'. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  I  kin  be  dead,  but  I  can't  be  no 
slave.  I'se  bound  to  be  free.  I'll  break  my  promise. 
I'll  tell  all  I  said  I  wouldn't  tell,  an'  I  may  be  killed. 
But,  bless  the  Lord,  I  '11  be  free.  'Fore  God  Almighty,  I 
never  be  slave  after  that.  Gimme  liberty,  ef  death  comes 
with  it." 

More  sublime  than  Patrick  Henry's  immortal  plea,  was 
the  innocent  heroism  of  the  unlettered  son  of  an  en 
slaved  race. 

"'Ye  shall  know  the  truth  and  the  truth  shall  make 
you  free,'  that's  what  that  preacher  down  to  Palmyry 
preached  from  last  Fall.  It  was  a  inspiration  to  all  of 


378  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

us,"  Coke  Wren  said  more  to  himself  than  to  anybody 
else. 

"Jupe,  I've  always  believed  if  you  would  tell  me 
what  is  on  your  mind  you  would  be  happier  and  maybe 
safer.  But  I  do  not  insist,"  Winthrop  Merriford  said. 

And  at  last  Jupe  broke  his  bonds. 

"Gentlemen,  I  is  a  free  man.  Miss  Lucy  Tarleton 
Penwin  done  give  me  my  free  papers  up  to  Boston.  I 
belong  to  her.  Nobody  else  but  to  Miss  Lucy,  an'  she 
say  she  go  home  an'  give  my  wife  her  free  papers.  Mars'r 
Penwin  never  have  no  right  to  sell  me  to  Roxbury,  'cause 
I  was  n't  his  'n  to  sell.  An'  I  run  cl'ar  to  Boston.  Then 
with  my  free  papers  I  go  back  after  my  wife.  She  mean 
the  same  to  me  that  Mars'r  Neil's  mother  mean  to  you, 
Mars'r  Merriford.  I  mean  same  to  her  you  mean  to  little 
Miss  Rosalind,  maybe,  Mars'r  Darrow,  some  day."  Jupe 
said  this  innocently,  but  it  brought  the  blood  to  Elliot's 
cheek.  Merriford  smiled,  but  Dr.  St.  Felix  was  impassive. 

"Well,  Jupe?"  Coke  Wren  said. 

"  Gentlemen,  when  I  git  back  Souf  I  show  Mars'r  Rox 
bury  my  free  paper,  an'  he  turn  on  Penwin.  Then  Boni 
face  Penwin  done  sold  hisself  to  the  devil  for  a  few 
hundred  dirty  dollars,  for  he  sold  Miss  Lucy  to  Rox 
bury.  Yes,  sah;  he  gambled  his  own  sister  away,  'cause 
gamblin'  done  rot  his  brain  and  dry  up  his  heart.  That 's 
what  hit  done  to  him;  that's  gamblin's  way.  They's 
white  slaves  same  as  black  ones  sometimes,  an'  Miss 
Lucy  Tarleton  was  sold  body  an'  soul  to  that  gam 
blin'  Roxbury  for  to  be  his  wife.  My  pretty  Miss 
Lucy!" 

Jupe's  voice  faltered,  then  he  went  on : 

"  When  Miss  Lucy  find  she  done  sold,  she  rebel.  She 
say  she  free  an'  I  free  an'  my  wife  hers  to  make  free. 
But  we  ain't.  They  had  a  awful  quarrel,  for  the  Pen- 


BROKEN    BONDS  379 

wins  have  hot  tempers.  Yes,  sah ;  and  high-stringed,  all 
of  'em.  Mars'r  Merriford,  ef  I  done  break  you-all's  heart, 
you  'member  you  ask  me  yourself  to  tell  you  all  I  know. 
An'  my  own  heart,  hit  done  broke  long  'go." 

"  Yes,  Jupe,  go  on,"  Merriford  said  gravely. 

"  Gentlemen,  Miss  Lucy  she  won't  be  sold,  an'  some 
how —  nobody  know  how  —  she's  dead.  When  Mars'r 
Neil  Merriford  go  Souf  —  she's  dead.  An*  pretty  soon 
my  wife's  dead.  An'  when  I  go  to  Boniface  Penwin, 
he  say  my  wife  she  kill  Miss  Lucy  'cause  Miss  Lucy 
not  let  her  get  free.  My  wife  never  lef  Miss  Lucy  all 
pretty  Miss's  life,  never.  When  I  go  to  Boniface  Penwin, 
he  say, '  You  mine  now,  'cause  you  Misses  dead.'  I  show 
my  free  papers  an'  he  snatch  'em  and  tear  'em  up  an'  say 
I  his  an'  he  sell  me  to  New  Orleans  trader  right  away. 
But  I  run  from  his  place  to  Atlanta.  An'  I  go  to  Neil 
an'  tell  him.  He  just  come  there.  Neil  goes  mad-like 
for  a  week,  maybe  more,  an'  not  know  anybody,  and  I 
taken  care  of  him.  When  he  gits  better  all  the  Penwins 
is  in  Kansas.  I  can't  tell  'bout  time  but  it  was  all  las' 
summer  an*  fall." 

Merriford  said  slowly.  "And  you  took  care  of  my 
boy?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  tell  no  more,"  the  Negro  pleaded. 

"  But  you  must  now,  Jupe ;  it 's  your  only  way  to  git 
free.  All  that  proves  you  were  set  free  is  gone,"  Coke 
Wren  put  in. 

"Neil  Merriford  never  smile  no  more.  He  come  to 
Kansas,  him  an'  me.  We  bound  to  get  Colonel  Penwin 
somehow.  Neil  never  was  right  in  his  head  after  he 
found  out.  I  could  gone  to  Boston,  but  I  staid  with  him. 
I  can't  say  no  more." 

Jupe  tumbled  into  a  limp  heap  in  his  chair  and  stared 
out  of  the  open  door. 


380  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"How  did  you  happen  to  know  John  Brown,  Jupe?" 
Coke  asked. 

"  Me  an'  young  Mars'r  Merriford  come  into  his  settle 
ment  an'  found  a  place  to  stay  all  night.  We  told  him 
about  Penwin.  Mars'r  Neil  did,  'cause  he  wasn't  right, 
an'  awful  tired.  Them  Doyles,  down  on  Pottawatomie 
Creek,  chased  us  with  bloodhound,  and  we  got  away 
an'  got  to  Brown's  the  day  before  we  got  —  I  got  — 
pretty  near  to  Lawrence." 

"  Well,  now,  let 's  have  these  Injuns  talk  a  little.  Them 
an'  me  was  real  chummy  last  winter  when  you  left  me 
an'  Jupe  here  to  run  things,"  so  Coke  urged;  but  the 
Indians  steadfastly  refused  to  talk. 

"  You  talk,"  at  last  White  Turkey  said. 

"  Will  you  swear  to  what  I  say,  or  set  me  right  ef  I  'm 
wrong?"  Wren  asked. 

Both  nodded,  then  sat  in  stolid  silence  while  Wren 
took  up  the  thread  of  things. 

"  It  seems,  boys,  that  this  Delaware,  —  who 's  the  loyal- 
est  citizen  the  Nation's  got  outside  its  pale,  —  'cause 
Elliot's  mother  took  him  in  out  of  the  wet  last  spring, 
is  boun'  no  harm  shall  ever  come  to  her  nor  hers,  went 
down  on  the  Trail  one  stormy  night  last  winter,  he  did, 
and  took  a  bullet  B.  Penwin  was  aimin*  at  Elliot  Dar- 
row,  took  it  into  his  own  hide  to  save  Mis'  Darrow's 
boy.  He 's  got  the  bullet  an'  knows  who  shot  it  at  him. 
Eh,  White  Turkey?" 

"  While  the  winds  blow  and  the  Wakarusa  runs  down 
to  the  Kaw,  me  keep  harm  from  White  woman,"  White 
Turkey  said  solemnly. 

"Yes,"  Coke  said;  "and  he  got  wind  of  somebody 
goin'  to  git  caught  up  with  at  Hole  in  the  Rock,  and  he 
thought  it  was  Lamond  and  Darrow.  He  owned  that 
red-roan  that 's  carried  B.  Penwin  to  do  his  cussed  mean- 


BROKEN    BONDS  381 

ness  over  the  country  for  nearly  a  year.  White  Turkey 
rode  after  Lamond  and  Darrow  to  git  there  and  save  'em. 
He  cut  out  south  in  the  rough  perairie  this  side  that  ra 
vine,  an'  got  into  it  away  ahead  of  'em." 

How  clearly  Elliot  remembered  that  day  when  the 
third  horseman  on  the  red-roan  had  followed  the  other 
two,  and  Craig  had  insisted  that  his  father  rode  a  bay 
colt! 

"Boys,  Neil  Merriford  and  Jupe  was  in  that  ravine, 
and  White  Turkey  tied  his  horse  in  a  thicket  and  slipped 
down  into  the  rocky  run  to  see  what  was  goin'  on,  for 
they  was  high  words  bein'  given.  I'll  be  brief,  Win- 
throp,"  Coke  said  sympathetically,  for  the  eyes  of  the 
lawyer  cut  him  to  the  heart.  "A  pistol  shot  from  Neil 
sent  the  bay  colt  down.  I  brought  you  the  bullet,  you 
remember.  Then  they  was  what  none  of  us  can  know 
save  them  as  saw  it, —  this  Red  man  an'  this  Black  man ; 
but  the  outcome  was  that  Neil  was  wounded,  an'  —  an' 
he  was  put  down  into  that  black  pool  an'  his  revolver 
flung  after  him.  Bear  up ;  be  a  man,  Merriford." 

The  earth  dropped  from  under  Neil  Merriford's  father 
then,  and  he  hid  his  face  and  said  no  word. 

"  Neil  was  n't  tryin'  to  kill  Colonel  Penwin.  He  meant 
to  bring  him  to  justice  for  Miss  Lucy's  sake."  Wren 
thought  talking  better  than  silence  just  then.  "  He  could 
have  killed  Penwin  easy  as  his  horse,  but  he  wasn't  no 
murderer." 

"Thank  heaven,"  Merriford  murmured,  and  Coke 
continued : 

"  Penwin 's  a  giant  in  strength,  an*  he  was  a  maniac  in 
violence  that  day;  he  fixed  Neil  with  a  bullet  first,  then 
he  took  Jupe.  Now  comes  this  man's  bondage.  If  Jupe 
swears  not  to  tell,  he  shall  be  free.  If  he  ever  reveals 
one  thing,  he's  to  fall  into  Penwin's  clutches.  The 


382  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Colonel  could  have  had  it  out  with  Jupe,  but  he  dassent 
fight,  an'  Jupe  didn't  realize  his  own  power  proper.  So 
he  promised  to  save  his  own  life  and  be  free.  You  can't 
wonder  at  that,  ner  blame  him,  gentlemen.  White 
Turkey  was  witness  to  the  whole  thing,  not  knowin' 
whose  contention  it  was  contendin' ;  and  before  he  could 
git  out  and  not  be  seen,  Boniface  Penwin  —  'cause  the 
Evil  One's  in  league  with  him  —  gits  to  the  thicket,  to 
hide,  an'  there's  a  roan  horse  all  ready-made  waitin'  for 
him,  whom  he  grabs  forthwith,  an'  is  still  a-grabbin'. 

"  My  boy !  my  boy ! "  moaned  the  lawyer. 

"  He  would  never  have  been  quite  right  again,  Merri- 
ford,"  St.  Felix  said.  "I  knew  that  in  Atlanta.  His 
brain  was  crazed  —  and  no  wonder.  You  cannot  wish 
him  back." 

"And  he's  not  in  that  pool,  neither;  tell  'em  that, 
Pelathe,"  Wren  cried. 

The  young  Shawnee  looked  up  quickly  at  White 
Turkey,  who  nodded  assent. 

"When  the  moon  was  one-quarter  big,  we  go  after 
White  Turkey's  roan  horse  down  there.  We  chase  pretty 
white  squaw  little  way  till  we  see  better." 

Elliot  remembered  Beth's  Indian  now. 

"We  do  not  find  the  horse,  but  we  find  young  white 
brave  on  top  of  water.  We  leave  White  Turkey's  blan 
ket  in  little  valley  where  we  will  make  a  grave.  Then  we 
go  wrap  my  blanket  'round  brave  and  bring  him  here. 
White  Turkey's  blanket  is  gone.  Somebody  hide  it 
under  rocks  by  there.  So  we  bury  brave  all  careful. 
Then  we  find  White  Turkey's  blanket  by  chance." 

"And  you  never  told,"  Merriford  said. 

"We  did  not  know  who,  at  first,  and  Jupe  was  afraid 

for  us  to  say,  so  we  would  not  tell.  Then "  The 

Indian's  face  was  shrewd  enough. 


BROKEN    BONDS  383 

"  If  no  law  protect  white  men,  how  shall  Red  men  or 
Black  men  be  heard  in  court  in  these  times  in  Kansas?" 

"I  understand,"  Merriford  said.  "You  have  all  done 
your  best.  And  this  faithful  Jupe,  you  have  been  true 
to  your  word  and  have  done  your  duty  as  you  saw  it. 
Will  you  let. me  be  alone  now?"  He  grasped  each  hand 
and  the  men  filed  out. 

"That's  my  horse,"  White  Turkey  said  as  he  passed 
Merriford. 

"Go  and  take  it,  White  Turkey;  I'll  defend  you  in 
court,"  the  lawyer  replied. 

The  Delaware  shot  across  the  street  to  where  the  red- 
roan  pawed  the  ground  about  a  rude  hitching-post.  In 
another  minute  a  Delaware  war-whoop  broke  the  quiet 
of  Massachusetts  Avenue,  and  Indian  and  horse  were 
going  north  with  joyous  speed. 

As  the  men  left  the  office  by  the  front  door  Roxbury 
and  Jack  Bobbs  came  into  it  through  the  rear  door. 

"  We  've  been  listenin'  out  there,"  Roxbury  said  gruffly 
as  he  walked  up  to  the  lawyer.  "  We  're  a  different  sort 
from  you,  Merriford,  but  we've  got  a  common  cause,— 
to  rid  the  earth  of  that  cheatin',  murderin*  Boniface 
Penwin.  He 's  cheated  me  out  of  my  own  ten  times  over. 
I  promised  Buford  I  'd  keep  still  till  we  settled  Kansas." 
He  smiled  grimly.  "  Kansas  ain't  never  goin'  to  be  set 
tled  by  our  kind,  an'  me  an'  Bobbs  goes  home  soon  as 
we  git  that  viper.  So  we  don't  keep  our  word  no 
longer." 

Merriford  stood  looking  at  the  two  men,  deliberating 
before  he  spoke. 

"Roxbury  sent  me  to  spy  him  out  last  Fall,"  Jack 
Bobbs  began.  "I  had  a  cabin  down  by  Palmyry.  Just 
saved  my  life  by  goin'  to  church  with  them  Darrow  boys, 
for  he  'd  got  wind  of  me  bein'  there  an*  come  an'  hid  in 


384  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

my  shack  to  kill  me.  I  went  to  church  'stid  o*  goin*  in 
again." 

At  that  moment  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  came  hur 
riedly  into  the  street,  seeking  his  horse.  He  stopped  and 
stared  at  the  bit  of  rein  left  hanging  where  White  Turkey 
had  cut  it  in  his  haste. 

Roxbury  and  Bobbs  gave  a  shout  and,  with  pistols 
aimed,  rushed  into  the  street.  Penwin  turned  at  the 
first  shout.  Quick  as  a  flash  he  darted  around  the  corner 
of  the  street  and  into  the  alley  where  the  Georgians' 
horses  were  tethered.  Cutting  the  rein  of  the  stronger 
one,  he  mounted  and  fled,  a  perfect  shower  of  bullets 
following  him. 

Dr.  St.  Felix  and  Elliot,  standing  at  the  Doctor's  office 
door,  saw  the  whole  proceeding. 

"The  last  of  him  in  Kansas,  Elliot,"  the  Doctor  said. 
"  I  wish  they  had  gotten  him,  for  he  will  rise  up  to  trouble 
us  all  again.  A  Penwin  never  forgets.  Come  in,  won't 
you?" 

Elliot  had  been  thinking  swiftly  of  the  past  events. 
He  recalled  the  night  of  the  storm  when  Colonel  Penwin 
shrieked  in  terror  at  sight  of  him. 

"He  thought  he  had  killed  me  when  he  shot  White 
Turkey  instead  of  me,  and  I  must  have  seemed  like  my 
own  ghost  or  the  ghost  of  Neil  Merriford  at  the  Hole  in 
the  Rock.  And  the  night  he  told  me  I  must  not  get  in 
Craig's  way  —  I  remember  how  terror-stricken  he  looked 
when  he  happened  to  glance  at  that  still  pool.  And  he 
didn't  want  any  more  dead  faces  there  to  haunt  him  so 
I  was  to  be  finished  in  Coleman's  Cave.  I  must  have  re 
minded  him  of  Neil.  No  wonder  he  hates  me." 

But  now  Elliot's  mind  was  full  of  another  thought. 

"Dr.  St.  Felix,"  the  Quaker  said  frankly:  "I  think 
I  'd  better  not  go  in  now,  nor  any  more.  If  I  can  make 


BROKEN     BONDS  385 

my  plans  right,  I  shall  go  East  to  study  this  fall.  I  will 
not  be  up  here  any  more.  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you 
for  your  help.  Tell  Rosalind  I  thank  her  too." 

Dr.  St.  Felix  had  taken  Elliot's  hand,  and  he  held 
it,  while  his  eyes  were  on  the  ground.  At  length  he 
looked  up. 

"  Elliot,  I  understand.  I  saw  how  matters  were  tend 
ing  on  the  day  I  stopped  at  Wren's  cabin  to  send  you 
to  Nethercote's.  Miss  Lamond  was  quieting  the  baby 
unmindful  of  you.  But  I  understood  your  face  that  day. 
If  I  saw  aright  it  is  best  so,  better  now  than  later.  I  had 
hoped  for  Rosalind's  sake  that  it  might  be  otherwise,  for 
you  are  a  man  of  a  thousand,  my  boy, —  the  soul  of  honor, 
a  hero  in  courage,  a  gentleman  in  kingly  courtesy,  and 
affectionate  beyond  the  disposition  of  most  men.  God 
bless  you,  Darrow."  He  wrung  the  young  man's  hand 
and  the  two  separated. 

And  Elliot,  thinking  of  the  Doctor's  kind  words,  so 
much  in  contrast  to  David  Lamond's  judgment  of  him 
self,  did  not  dream  how  much  better  it  would  have  been 
for  him  in  a  day  to  come  had  one  of  the  Georgians'  bullets 
caught  Boniface  Penwin  then.  Before  midnight  the 
Colonel  was  across  the  border-line  into  Missouri,  and 
the  Kansas  Territory  never  saw  him  again. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 
WHOSE    SOUL    GOES     MARCHING     ON 

I  cannot  remember  a  night  so  dark  as  to  have  hindered  the 
coming  day,  nor  a  storm  so  furious  and  dreadful  as  to  prevent 
the  return  of  the  warm  sunshine  and  a  cloudless  sky. 

—  John  Brown  to  his  Wife  and  Children. 

WITH  the  passing  of  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  from 
Kansas,  Craig  came  into  his  own.  His  father  had 
spoken  truly  when  he  said:  "You  and  I  will  follow 
different  lines  of  life  and  thought.  I  know  it  as  well 
now  as  when  the  fact  is  old  to  both  of  us."  Wherever 
Boniface  Penwin  may  have  been  during  the  years  be 
fore  Elliot  Darrow  met  him  again,  he  was  not  following 
the  same  lines  of  life  and  thought  his  son  was  pursuing 
in  these  years,  else  his  action  would  not  have  differed 
so  widely  from  his  son's.  Dr.  St.  Felix  also  spoke  truly 
when  he  declared,  "  A  Penwin  never  forgets." 

When  Craig  and  Lucy  and  Tarleton  found  them 
selves  entirely  orphaned,  they  met  the  situation  philo 
sophically,  for  the  turmoil  of  the  spring  and  summer 
that  ,robbed  them  of  their  father  or  filled  their  home 
with  strange,  loud-voiced  men  had  made  them  welcome 
a  freedom  from  it  all.  Irregularly  ample  sums  of  money 
reached  them  from  the  South,  and  their  faithful  black 
servant  was  still  their  housekeeper.  Aunt  Crystal's 
heartstrings  were  twined  round  these  children  whom 
she  had  known  from  babyhood.  It  took  little  to  make 

386 


SOUL    GOES    MARCHING    ON       387 

Lucy  and  Tarley  happy,  and  their  impulsive  natures 
rebounded  quickly  from  the  surprise  of  their  father's 
sudden  departure;  while  Craig  devoted  himself  now  to 
the  making  of  a  good  citizen.  And  since  the  West  has 
ever  been  magnanimous,  caring  not  much  for  one's 
ancestry,  if  a  man  acts  like  a  man,  Lawrence  and  the 
Vinland  Valley  took  the  capable  young  Southerner  at 
his  face  value. 

Craig  did  profit  by  his  father's  advice  to  win  by  seem 
ing  good  will  rather  than  by  coercion.  He  placed  no 
restrictions  on  Lucy  and  Tarley  in  their  friendly  asso 
ciation  with  Joe  Darrow.  Nor  did  he  offer  any  check  to 
Lucy's  growing  interest  in  Mark.  Mark  was  a  big, 
brown-haired,  blue-eyed  boy  now,  devoted  madly  to  the 
cause  of  John  Brown,  but  in  his  heart  he  cherished  a 
fondness  for  Lucy's  bright  face  and  pretty  Southern 
ways  and  lisping  accent.  It  would  have  made  no  differ 
ence  to  him  if  Craig  had  objected  to  him.  The  boy  who 
had  faced  the  rabid  forces  at  Black  Jack  and  Franklin 
and  Osawatomie  wasn't  likely  to  be  disturbed  because 
a  tall,  slender  young  Southerner  might  object  to  his 
presence.  Mark  thought  he  owned  Kansas,  because  he 
had  surged  among  its  warring  forces  with  a  daring  that 
was  sublime. 

And  as  for  Lucy,  Aunt  Crystal  had  spoken  well  when 
she  said  once: 

"'Deed,  for  a  fac',  all  our  Southern  'ristocrats  is  one 
thing  or  t'  other.  They  is  either  high-stringed,  or  sweet 
an'  lazy.  Mr.  Craig,  he's  high-stringed;  Miss  Lucy, 
she 's  sweet  an'  lazy ;  and  little  Mr.  Tarleton,  he 's  bof e, 
but  most  like  Miss  Lucy." 

Lucy  took  to  Mark  by  the  magnetism  of  the  attrac 
tion  of  opposites.  And  Craig,  whose  acts  were  prompted 
always  by  purely  personal  motives  and  never  by  the  mo- 


388  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

tives  of  general  welfare,  found  it  convenient  to  let  his 
sister  have  her  own  way. 

In  October,  Elliot  was  to  go  East  to  enter  the  Quaker 
College  of  Haverford,  near  Philadelphia.  After  David 
Lamond's  return  from  Lecompton,  he  had  waited  with 
all  a  young  lover's  eagerness  to  know  the  result  of  his 
conference  with  his  daughter.  But  Beth  avoided  meet 
ing  him,  and  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  guess,  save  by 
lack  of  opportunity,  what  the  result  of  this  interview 
had  been.  At  least  it  seemed  to  Elliot  that  she  avoided 
him.  And  he  knew,  for  love  is  alert,  how  often  Craig 
visited  the  Lamonds,  and  he  could  guess  by  Craig's 
growing  popularity  elsewhere  how  welcome  he  must  be 
in  this  home.  Once,  indeed,  Elliot  had  met  Beth  with 
her  father  on  the  Trail  by  the  Hole  in  the  Rock,  but 
the  Scotchman  had  passed  him  so  swiftly  there  was  not 
a  moment  for  Elliot  to  read  a  "message  in  beautiful 
gray  eyes,"  if  there  had  been  one  for  him  to  read. 
Elliot's  eyes  were  keen,  however.  There  was  a  fold  of 
lace  about  Beth's  neck  with  a  little  V-shaped  opening 
at  the  front.  Across  this  bit  of  white  throat,  he  caught 
the  gleam  of  a  tiny  gold  chain.  And  even  Mark  noted 
how  bright  his  brother's  eyes  were  when  he  came  in  to 
supper  that  night. 

But  now  October  had  come.  Elliot  was  to  start  East 
soon  for  a  two  years'  stay,  and  he  determined  to  make 
opportunity  for  himself.  He  was  to  leave  Kansas  on 
Monday.  On  Saturday  night  he  came  to  the  stone  cabin 
and  asked  for  an  interview  with  David  Lamond. 

The  result  of  the  conference  could  have  been  guessed 
by  the  appearance  of  either  one  when  they  separated. 
David  Lamond  sat  upright  in  his  arm-chair  looking 
straight  before  him  at  nothing.  A  tear  was  on  his 
cheek  and  his  hands  were  clinched.  The  tear  had  come 


SOUL    GOES     MARCHING    ON        389 

after  Elliot  had  left.  The  father  heart  was  striving  with 
the  stern  Scotch  spirit  to  call  him  back. 

"  He  'd  win  a  saint  to  fall  from  grace  with  that  hand 
some  face  and  that  smile,  and  he  is  as  gentle  and  yet  as 
unbreakable  as  that  royal  father  of  his.  If  he  lived  any 
where  but  in  the  West,  he  would  probably  be  all  right. 
But  I  'm  afraid  of  the  test.  A  Scotch  Presbyterian  will 
fight  for  what  is  right.  A  Quaker  will  only  turn  the 
other  cheek.  And  then  the  boy  doesn't  explain  why 
he  went  wrong  in  the  sacking  of  Lawrence.  He  shall 
not  be  a  son-in-law  to  me." 

Elliot's  face  had  no  smile,  and  the  little  hint  of  sad 
ness  it  wore  without  —  it  was  more  than  a  hint  as  he 
walked  away  from  the  Lamond  cabin  that  night.  But 
his  step  was  firm  and  his  head  erect. 

"  Two  years !  A  man  can't  go  without  food  that  long 
and  live,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  'm  glad  I  did  n't  prom 
ise  not  to  speak  to  her  without  his  permission.  I  'm  not 
going  out  of  Kansas  until  I  talk  with  Beth  if  it  takes 
me  two  years.  I've  behaved  myself  and  waited  since 
May.  Does  he  think  that  didn't  take  any  courage?  But 
if  Beth  agrees  with  her  father;  if  I  stand  in  Craig  Pen- 
win's  way,  as  he  says  I  do,  and  she  wants  me  to  step 
aside,  I  '11  do  it  then  —  no  sooner.  *  Until  you  can  prove 
to  me  that  you  are  not  the  coward  I  think  you  are' — 
that's  what  he  said.  He'll  tell  me  when  he  finds  it  out. 
I  won't  ask  him." 

He  turned  to  look  back  at  the  stone  cabin  faintly  out 
lined  in  the  shadows. 

"A  Scotchman's  strength  and  a  Quaker's  patience," 
he  murmured.  "  Maybe  there 's  something  in  a  Scotch 
lass's  strength  also."  And  the  smile  that  lighted  his 
face  then  showed  that  the  man  had  conquered  himself 
and  was  daring  the  future. 


390  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

There  was  another  element  beside  strength  and  pa 
tience  ready  to  leap  into  the  game,  an  element  not 
yet  reckoned  with,  and  that  was  Yankee  ingenuity. 

Set  now  in  his  determination,  Lamond  that  night  had 
said  to  his  daughter: 

"Beth,  whatever  you  and  Elliot  Darrow  may  have 
thought  of  the  future,  I  have  forbidden  him  to  consider 
you  any  further;  and  you,  for  your  own  welfare,  must 
obey  my  wishes.  You  will  thank  me  for  that  some  day." 

Beth,  with  an  impenetrable  expression  in  her  gray 
eyes,  said  nothing.  But  Lamond's  word  had  been  law 
in  that  household  hitherto.  He  did  not  think  of  any 
change  now. 

The  October  Sabbath  came,  beautiful  as  a  dream  of 
Paradise.  Opalescent  skies  overhung  a  land  all  gray- 
green  and  amber,  with  purple  and  scarlet  in  the  hol 
lows,  and  topaz  and  mother-of-pearl  on  the  crest  of  the 
prairie  billows;  and,  folded  round  all,  soft-clinging, 
exquisite,  an  amethyst  veil  swathing  the  horizon,  where 
opal  blended  toward  amber.  And  then  it  was  the  Sab 
bath  day,  the  last  one  Elliot  was  to  see  in  Kansas  for  two 
years.  He  was  young  and  strong,  and  he  was  in  love 
with  all  a  young  man's  strength  for  loving.  He  had 
planned  to  storm  the  Lamond  castle  in  the  evening.  The 
same  October  moon  that  had  beautified  the  night  a  year 
ago,  when  love's  first  kiss  was  given,  without  permis 
sion,  would  be  pouring  out  its  glory  on  a  glorious  land 
to-night.  The  air  was  delicious,  and  to-morrow  was  to 
be  the  day  of  good-bys.  He  would  see  Beth  tonight. 

Patty  Wren  had  sent  Coke  over  to  ask  for  Beth  to 
come  and  spend  the  afternoon  and  take  supper  with 
them.  Coke  looked  innocently  neighborly,  as  he  said : 

"  Me  an'  Patty  '11  bring  her  home  'bout  seven  or  eight, 
Mis'  Lamond." 


SOUL    GOES     MARCHING    ON        391 

"Oh,  no  hurry,"  Beth's  father  said.  "If  she  is  good 
company  for  you,  keep  her  till  you  get  ready  to  bring 
her  back." 

David  Lamond  was  as  shrewd  as  he  was  unyielding. 
And  he  smiled  behind  his  yellow  beard,  for  he  had 
a  notion  of  what  the  Quaker  would  attempt  to  do  on 
this  evening. 

The  third  Wren's  nest  was  on  the  site  of  the  second 
one,  built  with  a  better  chimney  this  time.  Ten  minutes 
after  Coke  reached  home  with  Beth  he  came  limping 
into  the  house  with  a  twisted  ankle. 

Coke's  reputation  for  accidents  was  established  in  the 
Vinland  Valley.  Late  in  this  afternoon,  when  Tarley 
Penwin,  who  happened  by,  brought  word  to  Barrow's 
that  Patty  wanted  Elliot  to  come  and  do  the  chores  and 
tell  Cokey  good-bye,  because  he'd  slipped  on  a  sliding 
rock  in  the  ravine,  the  message  met  prompt  response. 
Elliot  hurried  away  determined  to  make  two  calls  before 
he  returned. 

"  Good-bye,  mother,"  he  said,  as  he  kissed  his  mother ; 
"  there  '11  be  more  than  an  ankle  untwisted  maybe  before 
I  get  back." 

"So  it's  not  your  head  unscrewed  from  your  spinal 
colyum,  Ellie,  we'll  be  glad,"  Mark  shouted  after  his 
brother. 

Coke,  with  a  bandaged  ankle,  sat  in  the  doorway  as 
serious  as  a  judge,  while  Elliot  did  the  chores  for  the 
evening. 

Patty  insisted  on  his  staying  for  supper,  and  Elliot 
washed  his  hands  in  the  basin  outside  the  back  door, 
and  came  smiling  in,  putting  on  his  coat  as  he  came. 
Beth  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair,  as  he  had  seen  her  on  the 
day  he  left  her  to  go  to  the  rescue  of  Mrs.  Nethercote. 
Elliot  caught  his  breath,  and  his  face  was  colorless  for 


392  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

a  moment.  Then  the  blood  surged  up  into  his  cheeks 
and  his  own  eyes  were  illumined,  for  he  had  read  the 
message  for  him  in  the  gray  eyes  of  Beth  Lamond. 

Patty  and  Coke  chirped  and  twittered  about,  busy  at 
nothing,  and  the  plain  little  meal  was  a  banquet  to  all  of 
them. 

"I  promised  Mis'  Lamond  we'd  git  Beth  home  by 
seven  or  eight  to-night,"  Coke  said,  "  but  her  pa,  he  said 
they  wasn't  no  hurry.  Now,  Elliot,  I'm  bound  to  ask 
you  to  do  it  for  us.  I  can't  go,  and  I'm  not  really  in 
shape  to  have  Patty  leavin*  me." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  accommodate  you,"  Elliot  said,  gaily.  "  I  'm 
always  willing  to  help  a  neighbor  out  of  trouble  when 
I  can." 

"I'd  better  shut  the  door  so's  you  won't  take  cold, 
Cokey,"  Patty  said,  in  an  unnecessarily  loud  voice,  after 
the  good-bys  were  said. 

Something  hit  her  shoulder  as  she  turned  from  the 
door.  It  was  the  bandage  from  Coke's  ankle,  and  Coke 
himself  was  standing  on  his  head  beside  the  hearth.  Then 
they  joined  hands  and  executed  a  little  bird  waltz  about 
the  room. 

"When  I  git  that  queer  feelin',  top  of  my  head,  I 
know  somethin'  good's  goin'  to  happen  'fore  night," 
Patty  said,  "  an'  I  waked  up  with  it  this  mornin'." 

"When  I  git  a  sprained  ankle  that  gits  well  in  two 
seconds,  it 's  always  a  sign  of  good  luck,"  Coke  declared, 
and  then  the  two  sat  down  and  gossiped  to  their  hearts' 
content. 

The  gracious  day  slipped  through  a  purple  twilight 
into  a  moonlit  evening. 

There  are  nights  so  enchanting,  they  seem  to  restore 
The  original  beauty  of  Eden;  so  tender, 
They  woo  every  soul  to  a  willing  surrender 


SOUL    GOES    MARCHING    ON       393 

Of  feverish  longing;  so  holy,  withal, 

That  a  broad  benediction  seems  sweetly  to  fall 

On  the  world. 

Such  was  the  October  night  in  the  Vinland  Valley 
into  which  Beth  Lamond  and  Elliot  Darrow  walked 
together.  They  had  not  spoken  to  each  other,  save  with 
their  eyes  maybe,  since  the  May  afternoon  at  Mrs.  El- 
bert's  cabin,  and  at  first  a  strange  restraint  fell  on  them. 
But  the  witchery  of  the  twilight  haze,  and  the  splendor 
of  the  grand  old  moon  God  meant  for  lovers  if  their 
loves  be  holy,  soon  had  them  in  the  evening's  spell,  and 
all  the  way  was  a  dream  of  joy.  It  was  twilight  still 
when  they  came  to  the  Hole  in  the  Rock.  The  waters 
were  placid  and  every  graceful  vine  about  the  dark 
ledges  swung  in  artistic  drapery  over  the  serenity  below. 
The  place  was  picturesquely  weird,  and  to  the  innocent 
girl  and  the  man  of  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart  it  was 
full  of  fantastic  charm.  But  Beth  came  closer  to  Elliot's 
side  as  the  shadows  deepened,  and  he  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm  and  held  it  there. 

They  reached  the  edge  ot  the  bluff  above  the  Vinland 
Valley  just  as  the  full  moon  swung  over  the  eastern 
horizon,  and  they  sat  down  on  the  old  seat  of  the  Octo 
ber  before,  and  were  silent. 

"  I  start  for  Philadelphia  tomorrow,  Beth,"  Elliot  said, 
at  last. 

Beth  was  leaning  forward  looking  out  at  the  beautiful 
valley.  Even  in  the  moonlight  her  hair  was  richly 
golden,  and  her  eyes  were  very  dark  in  the  soft  white 
beams. 

"  I  went  to  see  your  father  last  night.  You  probably 
know  what  he  said  to  me  at  least  he  promised  me  that  he 
would  inform  you.  I  could  not  leave  without  see 
ing  you,  and  I  should  have  stormed  the  stone  house 


394  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

tonight  if  Coke  hadn't  sprained  his  accommodating 
ankle.  'Cokey*  is  a  jewel." 

Then  they  were  silent,  for  a  silvery  light  was  filling 
the  valley  and  they  wanted  to  keep  the  picture  of  it.  At 
length  Beth  turned,  and  the  radiance  glorified  her  face 
for  Elliot  Darrow  as  it  was  glorifying  the  valley  for 
both  of  them. 

"How  long  will  a  Quaker's  patience  last?"  she  asked, 
softly. 

"So  long  as  a  Scotch  lassie's  strength  will  endure," 
he  murmured,  and  he  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  drew 
her  close  to  him,  for  she  was  his  to  love,  and  some  day 
to  claim  for  his  own  to  keep. 

"I'm  glad  you  wore  this  dress,  Beth;  I  love  the 
Lamond  plaid,"  Elliot  said. 

She  had  on  a  soft  cashmere,  with  the  clan  tones  run 
ning  through  it.  The  gold  chain  was  about  her  neck,  and 
the  dainty  curve  of  the  pink  cheek  above  it  was 
bewitching. 

"  I  shall  be  away  two  years.  I  '11  go  to  my  cousins,  the 
Osbornes  of  Boston,  in  vacation.  But  I  'm  coming  home 
two  June-times  away." 

Beth  looked  up  at  Elliot  with  a  thrill  of  joy  in  the 
possession  of  such  a  love  as  his,  and  they  pledged  their 
faith  again  in  the  sweet  Kansas  moonlight  of  that  Octo 
ber  evening. 

Elliot  told  Beth  good-bye  on  the  stone  steps,  beside 
the  vine-covered  pillars  where  he  had  first  found  his 
heart-hunger  that  only  she  could  satisfy,  and  this  time 
the  golden  head  nestled  against  his  shoulder  for  a  glad 
long  minute,  and  no  shadows  darkened  the  gentle 
moonbeams  falling  about  them. 

At  the  open  door  he  stopped,  while  Beth's  mother 
lighted  the  candles  in  the  living  room,  that  David  La- 


SOUL    GOES    MARCHING    ON       395 

mond  might  know  he  had  brought  Beth  home,  and  with  a 
courteous  greeting  he  bade  both  the  father  and  mother 
good-bye.  As  he  walked  down  the  Trail  in  the  moon 
light,  the  same  thought  came  to  both  parents  —  the 
thought  that  whatever  might  be  their  judgment  of  his 
character,  Nature  had  done  much  for  the  young  Quaker. 

Two  years  pass  quickly  enough  to  a  middle-aged  Con 
gressman,  uncertain  of  reelection.  To  two  young  Kan 
sas  pioneers  the  time  was  long  but  not  unhappy.  When 
Elliot  came  home  for  his  first  vacation,  he  was  tali, 
broad-shouldered,  and  muscular.  He  had  a  student's 
clear  complexion,  and  soft,  white  hands;  his  clothing 
was  well-fitted,  and  his  manners  had  more  of  polish,  but 
he  carried  a  boy's  face  and  a  boy's  light  heart.  He  had 
added  vocal  music  to  his  accomplishments,  with  training, 
and  his  rich  voice  was  fuller  and  sweeter  in  its  scope  and 
power. 

The  Lawrence  girls  fulfilled  Mrs.  Elbert's  expectation 
and  "went  crazy"  over  him,  to  her  great  enjoyment. 
Popularity  came  easily  to  him,  the  best  homes  welcomed 
him,  and  the  charming  social  leaders  made  clear  their 
preference  for  his  company.  But  the  light  of  his  dark 
eyes  deepened  and  burned  for  only  one,  and  Beth's  cup 
of  joy  was  full.  For  although  the  father  had  not  varied 
a  line  from  his  stern  decree,  the  two  were  young,  and 
the  Scotch  endurance  and  the  Quaker  patience  broke 
not  at  all. 

A  brief,  busy  summer  passed,  and  Elliot  was  away 
again  for  his  last  two  years  of  college. 

Meanwhile  Craig  Penwin  fought  stubbornly  for  his 
claim,  and  he  knew  how  to  fight.  He  never  staid  a  min 
ute  too  long,  nor  put  Beth  on  the  defensive.  Slowly  but 
persistently  he  pursued  his  life  aim,  favored  by  the 
Scotchman,  and  accepted  by  everybody  else  as  the  finest 


396  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

young  fellow  in  the  Territory,  and  just  a  match  for  Eliza 
beth  Lamond.  It  came  to  be  accepted  at  last  that  the 
thing  was  established,  because  it  should  be  so. 

Beth  had  abundantly  fulfilled  Colonel  Penwin's  proph 
ecy  that  she  would  be  called  the  beauty  of  Kansas,  and 
back  of  golden  hair,  and  cheeks  abloom  with  the  tint  of 
the  wild  rose,  was  the  splendid  young  womanhood  of 
strength  and  beauty. 

The  border  strife  waxed  and  waned  and  flamed  forth 
again  with  deadly  fierceness,  for  the  struggle  that  was 
to  become  of  nation-wide  virulence  was  always  at  high 
tide  on  the  frontier.  And  if  squatter  sovereignty  gave 
Kansas  Territory  to  the  Free-State  party  in  numbers, 
the  claim  was  maintained  by  violence  alone. 

Meanwhile  little  Territorial  towns  were  springing  up 
or  fading  away  in  the  chance  fortunes  of  the  day.  Be 
yond  Palmyra,  a  school  for  higher  learning  —  the  Baker 
University,  of  a  prosperous  later  history  —  took  root  in 
the  unfriendly  soil.  Lucy  and  Tarley  Penwin  and  Mark 
and  Joe  Darrow  were  among  its  earliest  students.  For 
Mark  and  Lucy  these  days  of  schooling  were  a  God-send, 
tying  their  young  minds  back  to  the  culture  the  harsh 
frontier  had  withheld.  Lucy,  "  sweet  and  lazy,"  as  Aunt 
Crystal  had  declared,  needed  the  spur  to  her  natural 
gift  of  intelligence;  and  for  Mark,  it  curbed  the  lure  of 
the  raiding  spirit,  growing  on  both  sides  of  the  border. 
The  West  owes  much  to  the  silent,  certain  influences  of 
her  early  schools,  making  men,  instead  of  highwaymen, 
out  of  her  vigorous  boys. 

Mark's  hero  had  left  the  regions  round  the  Vinland 
Valley  now,  but  the  name  of  John  Brown  was  heard 
from  ocean  to  ocean.  There  must  have  been  magic  in 
it,  for  never  by  chance  does  a  name  become  fixed  in 
history  and  immortalized  by  the  ages.  He  did  not  seek 


SOUL    GOES     MARCHING    ON       397 

notoriety.  He  wanted  no  official  rank  nor  honor  of 
leadership.  He  was  not  an  organizer  of  federations.  His 
acts  were  circumscribed  by  his  clear  sense  of  his  own 
duty  to  humanity.  The  cost  of  it  to  him  or  to  anybody 
else  he  left  with  the  Power  that  put  this  duty  before 
him.  His  methods  will  be  forgotten,  as  are  forgotten 
long  since  the  methods  of  Alexander,  and  Caesar,  and 
Charlemagne,  and  William  the  Silent,  and  Cromwell, 
and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

Time  ran  on  to  the  November  of  1859.  John  Brown, 
for  the  tragedy  of  Harper's  Ferry,  was  in  the  Jefferson 
County  jail  in  Virginia,  awaiting  his  execution.  He  was 
old  and  sick  and  wounded,  but  he  was  loaded  with  fet 
ters  and  chained  to  the  floor  of  his  cell  and  guarded 
night  and  day  —  so  great  was  the  fear  of  the  great  man 
in  the  minds  of  little  men! 

In  Kansas  no  rain  had  fallen  for  months,  except  a 
few  tantalizing  drops  that  sizzled  and  left  scarcely  a 
pellet  of  mud  on  the  parched  ground.  The  Vinland  Val 
ley  was  a  barren  waste,  save  for  the  little  growths  that 
had  struggled  through  the  season  in  the  most  sheltered 
nooks  of  the  ravines.  The  terrible  drouth  that  fell  upon 
the  West  from  the  midsummer  of  1859  until  November 
of  1860  seemed  the  final  test  of  the  freedom-loving  pio 
neers.  For  now  the  land  they  had  bought  with  brain 
and  brawn  and  martyr  blood  was  burned  by  the  ven 
geance  of  Nature,  turned  ruffian.  Let  him  who  doubts 
the  heroism  of  an  enduring  people  read  the  history  of 
that  time  of  peril  and  power. 

On  a  November  day,  Winthrop  Merriford  and  John 
Speer  had  come  to  the  Vinland  Valley  and  were  in  coun 
sel  at  the  Darrow  home.  David  Lamond  and  Coke 
Wren,  with  other  settlers,  were  in  the  company.  The 
day  was  warm  for  November,  and  the  men  were  grouped 


398  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

about  the  open  door  among  the  cedars,  with  Isabel  Dar- 
row  and  Patty  Wren  and  Mrs.  Lamond  listening  from 
the  doorstep. 

"What  is  to  be  the  end?"  Merriford  asked.  His 
eyes  were  gazing  westward  toward  the  ridge  beyond 
which  was  the  grave  of  his  lost  son,  Neil. 

"For  John  Brown,  the  gallows  in  December,"  John 
Speer  replied. 

"  For  the  Valley  here,  the  blessed  miracle  of  the  rain, 
and  a  land  of  plenty  when  the  Good  Bein'  sees  fit.  I 
want  to  know  now,  if  them  Israelites  meandered  forty 
year  waitin'  for  water  in  the  desert,  we  can  wait  some, 
too.  We've  got  more  grit  inside  us  an*  less  sand  out 
side  us,  I  reckon,"  Coke  Wren  averred.  "An*  Noah 
kicked  some  considerable,  and  went  and  got  beastly 
drunk  and  disorderly  afterward,  'cause  he  had  to  put 
up  with  forty  days  of  water.  I  reckon  that  old  ark  was 
a  caution  to  snakes  when  she  hit  Mount  Ararat.  Gimme 
Mount  Oread  an*  a  general  Kansas  drouth,  gentlemen, 
an'  keep  your  Ararat  an'  floods." 

"Coke's  a  comfort,  anyhow,"  Merriford  said,  with  a 
smile.  "But  what  is  before  us  and  the  Nation?" 

"  For  Kansas,  admission  as  a  Free- State  finally.  We 
must  win  to  victory  at  last,"  Hiram  Darrow  said,  with 
a  voice  of  assurance. 

"But  for  the  Nation,  civil  war."  David  Lamond's 
face  was  full  of  a  stern  courage.  "There  is  no  other 
end  to  conflicts  such  as  we  have  known  for  these  five 
years  here  in  Kansas.  It  will  come,  and  it  must  come 
soon." 

"I'm  ready  for  it,"  one  after  another  of  the  men 
declared. 

"But  is  this  all?"  Merriford  asked. 

Then  Isabel  Darrow  spoke.    It  was  from  his  mother 


SOUL    GOES    MARCHING    ON       399 

that  Elliot  had  inherited  his  rich,  deep  voice.  Her  tone 
was  ever  gentle,  but  firm  and  full  of  power. 

"  No,  friends,  this  is  not  all.  Beyond  these  ends  you 
predict  so  surely,  there  lies  the  greatest  purpose  of  all  — 
the  purpose  for  which  John  Brown  is  to  executed  next 
month  —  the  enfranchisement  of  slavery;  that  is  the 
future  of  our  Nation.  Never  again  will  the  westward- 
moving  frontier,  under  the  American  flag,  see  a  border 
strife  such  as  this  Kansas  warfare  has  been.  There  will 
be  crime,  and  injustice,  and  bloodshed  before  the  West 
is  reclaimed.  But  never  again  can  brutality,  and  treason, 
and  atrocity  reach  this  flood-tide  of  misrule  and  misery 
and  martyrdom;  for  that  which  has  put  the  spur  and 
power  into  it  is  human  slavery,  and  that  must  perish." 

The  Quaker  woman's  face  was  exquisite  in  its  sweet, 
womanly  beauty  and  intellectual  power.  And  every 
man  in  that  company  listened  with  reverence  to  her  ear 
nest  declaration,  as  she  added: 

"  The  rope  that  hangs  John  Brown  should  be  a  strong 
one.  For  when  the  South  destroys  that  stern  old  chief 
tain  of  freedom,  it  will  destroy  at  the  same  time  its 
cherished  institution  for  which  he  perishes,  and  John 
Brown  and  human  slavery  will  swing  to  their  death  from 
the  same  gibbet." 

"Amen!"  came  the  fervent  response  from  the  com 
pany.  And  then  the  talk  became  general. 

"Mis'  Darrow,  where 's  Elliot  now  —  finishing  his 
college  to  Haverford?"  Patty  asked. 

David  Lamond  listened  for  the  answer. 

"No;  he's  at  Boston  now  with  our  relatives.  The 
drouth  cut  him  out  of  this  year  of  schooling.  He  will 
not  finish  until  '61,"  Mrs.  Darrow  explained. 

"  The  Osbornes  are  delighted  with  him,  too,  Mrs.  Dar 
row,"  Winthrop  Merriford  said.  "He's  pretty  busy, 


400  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

reading  medicine  and  working  hard,  they  write  me.  Also 
they  say  he  is  very  popular  with  everybody,  and  espe 
cially  the  young  folks.  Elliot  is  a  charming  fellow.  No 
wonder  the  young  ladies  admire  him." 

Long  ago  Isabel  Darrow  had  foreseen  this  hour.  A 
man  of  magnetic  personal  power  whom  men  would 
admire,  and  women  would  love,  beyond  the  prejudice 
of  mother-pride  her  intelligence  told  her  this  would  be 
the  heritage  of  her  son. 

Lamond  pictured  his  own  Elliot  Darrow  there,  popu 
lar,  of  course,  but  lacking  still  the  stern  strength  he 
wanted  in  a  son-in-law. 

A  month  later,  old  John  Brown,  who  had  fought  the 
good  fight,  and  kept  the  faith,  finished  his  course. 

When  the  April  of  '61  came,  with  its  spring-time 
beauty,  to  the  Kansas  prairies,  the  Civil  War  had  come, 
and  Kansas,  so  much  the  immediate  cause,  was  still  in 
the  path  of  the  tornado.  Up  from  her  prairies  and  val 
leys,  again  the  loyal-hearted  men  came  hurrying,  to  build 
now  a  wall  of  defence  for  the  Nation  and  to  keep  from 
stain  and  dishonor  the  flag  of  their  country. 

Hiram  Darrow,  true  to  his  Quaker  principles,  stead 
fastly  refused  to  take  up  arms;  and  the  heroism  it  cost 
him  to  hold  to  his  beliefs  was  akin  to  that  which  staid 
John  Brown  on  the  day  of  his  great  promotion.  But 
Darrow  held  firm. 

Craig  Penwin  sought  out  David  Lamond  with  a 
loyalty  that  overjoyed  the  Scotchman. 

"  You,  a  Southerner,  by  inheritance  and  training,  a  be 
liever  in  slavery,  yet  you  want  to  enlist  for  the  Union?" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Craig.  "It  is  my  flag  and  my 
Government.  I'm  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  not 
Of  the  South  nor  of  the  North." 


Lamond  grasped  his  hand  and  wrung  it  eagerly. 

"  Craig  Penwin,  I  am  not  blind.  I  have  watched  your 
patient  devotion  to  my  daughter.  She  is  hardly  yet  old 
enough  for  the  responsibility  of  a  home,  but,  my  boy,  she 
is  yours,  if  you  will  it  so." 

"And  she  wills  it,  too,"  Craig  added,  but  his  heart 
was  burning.  "  Shall  we  settle  this  before  we  leave  for 
the  front?" 

"  I  am  ready  to  give  my  blessing  to-day,  and  Craig,  it 
shall  bf  as  I  wish." 

Craig  understood,  and  the  triumph  of  having  over 
come  a  worthy,  powerful  rival  was  mixed  with  the  joy 
of  that  hour. 

And  Beth?  With  a  daughter's  love  and  sorrow,  and 
dread  of  war  for  her  father,  would  the  Scotch  strength 
measure  up  to  the  Quaker  patience  now?  Beth  had 
never  seemed  so  beautiful  to  her  father  before.  Will 
ingly  now,  he  could  give  her  up  to  the  fine  young  South 
erner,  and  he  smiled  on  her,  and  told  her  of  his  pride 
and  his  love. 

In  the  evening  Beth  sat  on  the  steps  by  the  vine-clad 
pillars  of  the  porch.  The  stone  cabin,  like  the  "  Dar- 
rarat"  and  many  more  of  the  settlers'  homes  round 
about,  had  given  place  to  a  larger  structure.  Nearly  all 
the  farmhouses  of  the  Vinland  Valley  showed  marks  of 
comfort.  But  Beth  had  pleaded  for  the  little  stone- 
floored  porch  and  rough  pillars,  when  the  cabin  became 
a  prettier  dwelling. 

The  evening  was  balmy.  The  tender  young  leaves 
were  just  unfolding  on  the  vines  and  there  was  a  shim 
mer  of  green  on  the  woodland.  The  stars  would  be 
out  soon,  and  the  twilight  was  deepening.  Beth  won 
dered  if  Elliot,  so  far  away  to-night,  might  be  looking 
up  at  the  same  stars,  and  remembering  her.  Or  was 


402  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

he  forgetting  his  Kansas  sweetheart  with  all  that  Boston 
had  to  offer.  And  now  she  was  face  to  face  with  her  own 
battle,  for  her  father's  purpose  was  clear  to  her. 

Some  one  was  striding  across  the  prairie  instead  of 
following  the  main  Trail.  The  shadows  were  shot 
through  with  the  after-sunset  light,  and  in  their  glow 
Beth  saw  Elliot  Darrow  walking  up  the  path  with  a 
swift-springing  step.  It  had  been  long  since  she  had 
seen  him,  but  all  the  lonely  longing  of  the  time  was  lost 
in  that  one  glad  moment.  Elliot  Darrow,  the  same,  only 
more  manly,  it  seemed  to  the  Scotch  lassie.  Beth 
Lamond,  only  more  beautiful  to  the  Quaker,  and  he 
clasped  both  of  her  hands  and  bent  to  read  the  message 
of  gray  eyes. 

"I  have  my  locket  yet,"  he  murmured. 

"And  I  have  my  chain,"  she  answered,  softly,  and 
then  she  added: 

"When  did  you  come  home,  and  why?  All  the  men 
here  except  your  father  are  going  to  enlist  soon.  That 's 
all  we  think  of  in  Kansas." 

"I  came  home  three  hours  ago.  I'm  going  to  stay 
three  weeks.  I  would  have  enlisted  in  a  Massachusetts 
regiment,  but  I  wanted  to  go  out  from  Kansas.  Here 's 
where  I  belong,  and  I  wanted  to  see  you  again,  for  war 
is  an  uncertain  proposition  —  to  cowards." 

"You,  Elliot  Darrow?  Are  you  going  to  fight  for 
the  Union?  I  thought  you  wouldn't  do  it.  What  has 
changed  you?"  And  Beth  Lamond's  face  was  bright 
with  joy  and  wonder. 

"You  interrogation  point!  Yes,  I'm  going  to  fight 
for  the  Union.  My  mind  changed  the  day  when  Jones's 
men  burned  Lawrence  and  I  watched  that  red  rag  wave 
over  the  Eldridge  House,  where  the  Star  Spangled  Ban 
ner  should  have  been.  I  'd  like  to  be  a  color-bearer  and 


SOUL    GOES     MARCHING    ON        403 

wave  the  flag  of  the  Union  above  all  the  banners  set  up 
against  it.  And  as  to  what  your  father  may  say,  I'm 
not  enlisting  for  him,  but  for  the  Nation.  But  would  it 
help  the  cause  of  our  union,  Beth,  if  I  spoke  to  him 
again?  Has  he  changed  any  toward  me?" 

Beth  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  No,  Elliot.  He  would  n't 
believe  you  were  sincere." 

"  When  the  war  is  over,  if  my  life  is  spared,  I  'm  com 
ing  back  to  Kansas;  and  then,  if  there  is  a  civil  war,  or 
only  a  border  struggle  in  the  Valley,  I  'm  going  to  claim 
my  own."  He  held  her  hand  in  his  close  grasp.  "  After 
I  serve  my  country,  I  shall  not  wait  for  anybody's  mind 
to  change,  except  yours,  dearie." 

"When  you  come  home  again,  Elliot "  She 

hesitated. 

"Shall  I  bring  a  Boston  girl  for  my  bride?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no."    And  Beth  clung  to  his  arm. 

"Come  to  Kansas  when  you  want " 

"You?" 

"Yes,  Elliot." 

"Then  we  are  all  right.  Now  let's  go  in.  I  have 
hardly  seen  mother  yet.  I  must  run  back  home,  and 
I'm  not  going  without  speaking  to  your  father  and 
mother.  I  'm  not  that  kind  of  a  coward." 

And  certainly  he  was  not.  David  Lamond  chafed 
under  a  restraint  he  could  not  break  when  the  young 
Quaker  was  present.  It  was  not  so  before  those  college 
years.  Now  the  boy,  all  boyish  still,  and  young,  and 
courteous,  put  up  a  defence  Lamond  chose  not  to  meet 
with  violence  yet.  But  it  changed  not  the  final  stern 
decree  in  the  older  mind. 

June-time  brought  the  enlistment  of  soldiers,  and 
July  saw  the  Kansas  men  taking  the  field.  In  the  brief 
space  before  their  going  away  Elliot  saw  Beth  every 


404  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

day,  and  the  joy  of  that  sweet  summer-time  came  back 
to  him  in  many  a  lonely  vigil  on  the  tented  field.  And 
amid  the  roar  of  cannon,  when  dangers  crowded,  and 
death  hovered  near,  the  message  of  beautiful  gray  eyes, 
with  the  Madonna  face  of  a  Quaker  mother,  made  the 
service  for  his  country  a  service  of  joy.  When  their  last 
good-byes  were  said,  Beth  slipped  a  silken  handkerchief 
into  Elliot's  hand. 

"  It  has  my  colors,  the  Lamond  plaid.  Keep  it  close 
to  the  red,  white  and  blue,"  she  said. 

All  the  while  Craig  bided  his  time  in  sullen  anger, 
and  when  the  opportunity  came,  he  demanded  his  own 
of  David  Lamond. 

"We  must  wait  a  little  longer,  my  boy,"  the  father 
said.  "We  have  a  bigger  service  now  before  us.  The 
reward  is  home  and  happiness  for  both  of  us.  I  have 
promised  you  that.  When  the  time  is  ripe,  I  '11  settle  the 
matter.  The  boy  is  fickle  as  well  as  weak.  You  notice 
how  popular  he  is,  and  attractive  to  most  people." 

Craig  had  noticed  this  carefully. 

"He'll  change  himself,  and,  at  the  last,  Beth  would 
not  disobey  me  when  she  knows  I  am  choosing  for  her 
own  happiness.  But  we  must  not  be  too  rash  right  now." 

Craig  was  forced  to  submit. 

When  Craig  went  to  the  war,  he  brought  Lucy  and 
Tarley,  with  Aunt  Crystal,  up  to  Lawrence.  Dr.  St. 
Felix  had  not  entered  the  ranks  of  either  side  yet,  and 
Craig  put  his  brother  and  sister  under  the  doctor's  pro 
tection.  Lucy  was  a  young  lady  now,  impulsive  like 
her  father,  but  kindly  natured,  with  pretty  manners  and 
a  soft  Southern  voice.  Mark  was  still  devoted  to  her, 
and  she  led  him  a  merry  chase  which  Mark  really  en 
joyed.  Strangely  enough,  he  was  not  as  eager  to  join 
the  army  as  he  had  been  to  join  John  Brown :  partly  be- 


SOUL    GOES    MARCHING    ON       405 

cause  he  had  had  a  taste  of  war  already,  in  the  most 
unjust  and  irregular  form;  partly  because  he  was  im 
pulsive  and  changeable  in  his  moods;  but  mostly 
because  his  mother  felt  in  those  first  years  that  one  son 
was  sufficient  sacrifice  for  a  home  to  offer. 

Craig's  last  interview  with  Beth  was  pathetic  for  him. 
The  two  had  been  much  together,  and  Craig  was  won 
derfully  companionable  when  he  chose  to  be.  A  sort 
of  friendship  freedom  had  come  with  the  association 
because  Craig  would  not  put  Beth  to  the  test  of  refusing 
him  any  attention.  His  wooing  was  of  the  kind  that  fills 
a  life  so  full  of  necessary  pleasure  that  the  days  grow 
barren  without  it.  Beth  was  surprised  to  find  how 
grieved  she  felt  at  the  parting.  And  Craig,  to  whom 
the  girl  meant  the  best  that  life  can  offer,  could  not 
keep  the  sorrow  of  separation  from  showing  in  his  face. 

"That's  a  pretty  chain  you  wear,"  he  said,  as  he 
lingered  over  his  good-bye.  There  was  a  tender  light  in 
his  deep  blue  eyes,  and  all  that  was  best  in  him  was 
pleading  there. 

"I  like  it,"  Beth  replied,  while  a  little  deeper  bloom 
touched  her  fair  cheek. 

"Would  you  let  me  take  it  for  a  keepsake?"  Craig 
asked.  "  I  '11  give  it  back  to  you  when  I  come  home." 

"  It  is  n't  mine  to  give,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  an  heirloom,  dear  to  the  family.  I  can  under 
stand.  It  is  very  dainty,  and  of  an  unusual  pattern. 
I  just  wanted  a  keepsake  from  you."  Craig's  tone  said 
more  than  his  words. 

"Then  I'll  give  you  a  golden  chain  of  good  will," 
Beth  said,  frankly.  "That's  a  great  deal  to  give,"  she 
added,  and  there  was  a  twinkle  in  her  gray  eyes,  "for 
you  needn't  ever  lose  it  if  you  are  real  good." 

Her  good-bye  was  too  sincerely  and  frankly  regretful 


406  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

for  Craig  to  misunderstand  her,  but  he  cherished  his 
hope  still,  because  he  willed  his  future  doggedly,  and 
life  without  her  now  he  refused  to  consider. 

"She  would  care  for  me  at  last  if  that  good-looking 
Quaker  was  out  of  the  way,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and  he 
must  get  out  soon.  My  father  was  right  about  him.  He 
is  a  power  that  I  must  overcome,  and  I  shall  not  stop 
to  consider  the  means.  But  he  may  change  his  mind, 
or  maybe " 

Craig's  thin  lips  closed  with  a  sharp  line  across  his 
glistening  teeth.  If  some  half-formed  evil  wish  came 
to  him  as  he  thought  of  the  fortunes  of  war,  it  was  be 
cause  of  his  passion  for  a  girl  whom  he  esteemed  for 
her  strength  of  character  as  much  as  he  loved  her  for 
herself.  In  his  secret  heart  he  knew  that  if  King  David 
needed  any  help  in  getting  Uriah  to  the  front  in  this 
Civil  War,  it  would  not  be  for  lack  of  Craig  Penwin's 
assistance. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  war,  money  for  the  Pen- 
wins  ceased  to  come  from  the  South,  and  Lucy  and 
Tarley  found  themselves  without  support.  Then  the 
two  members  of  the  family  who  were  "  sweet  and  lazy," 
as  Aunt  Crystal  had  declared,  proved  their  independence 
of  their  "high-stringed"  relatives. 

"Papa's  in  the  Rebel  army  and  Craig's  in  the  Union 
army,"  Lucy  said  to  Mark.  "Tarley  and  I  must  do 
for  ourselves  now." 

Their  brief  schooling  in  the  little  college  beyond  Pal 
myra  helped  them  much.  By  tutoring,  and  the  making 
of  pretty  laces  and  fine  sewing,  Lucy  joined  finances 
with  Tarley's  funds  from  any  work  a  boy  could  secure. 
So  these  two,  bred  in  the  luxury  of  the  South,  came 
soon  to  compass  their  own  support  in  the  independent 
West. 


SOUL    GOES     MARCHING    ON        407 

By  midsummer  the  Kansas  soldiers  were  far  afield 
and  in  the  mutations  of  chance  the  two  young  men  from 
the  Vinland  Valley  found  themselves  in  the  same  com 
pany.  Their  captain  first,  and  later  their  colonel,  was 
David  Lamond. 

With  the  second  Bull  Run,  Dr.  St.  Felix  went  East 
to  join  the  Confederacy.  When  Fort  Donaldson  fell, 
Mark  entered  the  Union  army  and  went  down  the  Mis 
sissippi  River  with  General  Grant  through  Corinth  and 
Shiloh.  Then  he  swung  into  Arkansas  and  the  South 
west,  and  the  Vinland  Valley  saw  him  only  once  again 
until  after  the  martyrdom  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

His  battlefield  was  in  the  lines  of  perpetual  peril,  and 
no  danger  was  so  threatening,  no  chance  so  daring,  no 
risk  so  tremendous,  that  it  could  hold  the  Quaker  boy 
back  from  its  challenge.  He  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed 
life,  for  in  all  the  deadly  way  no  bullet  nor  bayonet  ever 
reached  him,  and  his  comrades  still  relate  the  tale  of 
his  reckless  bravery.  No  wonder  his  hair  was  white  at 
forty-five!  It  was  turning  to  gray  when  he  came  back 
to  the  Vinland  Valley. 

But  all  Mark's  service  grew  from  the  inspiration  that 
John  Brown  put  into  his  boy-soul.  He  fought  not 
against  the  South's  principle  of  states  rights,  but  for 
his  own  notion  of  human  rights. 

On  the  western  frontier  the  war  was  least  dignified, 
least  effective,  and  most  vengeful  —  a  continuing  of  the 
old  border  struggle  of  ambush  and  assassination.  Kan 
sas,  lying  between  the  South  and  the  North,  with  the 
rebellious  Confederacy  on  the  east  and  the  menace  of 
hostile  Indians  on  the  west,  became  a  storm  center  for 
terrific  forces  outside  the  swing  of  military  justice  and 
recognized  laws  of  warfare.  The  struggle  here  was  a 
vendetta  strife  where  quarter  was  neither  asked  nor 


408  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

given.  But  the  fighting  strength  of  Kansas  was  under 
enlistment  in  the  armies  of  the  North.  The  men  who, 
against  bullet,  sword,  and  fire-brand,  had  stood  solidly 
for  the  freedom  of  Kansas  were  offering  their  lives  now 
for  the  larger  freedom,  whose  symbol  is  the  Stars  and 
Stripes.  And  while  John  Brown's  body  lay  mouldering 
in  the  tomb,  in  these  men  —  loyal  to  his  life  purpose  — 
his  soul  went  marching  on. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  DAWN  OF  DOOM 

Despots  atop,  a  wild  clan  below, 
Such  is  the  Gaul  from  long  ago. 

—  James  Russell  Lowell. 

FOR  two  years  the  vendetta  warfare  harassed  the 
border.  Kansas  outlaws,  true  to  no  flag,  raided 
across  the  eastern  boundary.  Missouri  guerrillas,  more 
dangerous  to  their  own  state  than  the  Kansas  in 
vaders  were,  scourged  both  sides  of  the  line,  leaving  a 
trail  of  blood  and  ashes  in  their  wake.  Among  the 
Kansas  outlaws  the  names  of  leaders  and  followers  are 
alike  lost  in  oblivion.  Either  they  repudiated  their  out 
law  course  and  became  respectable  citizens,  or  they 
dropped  out  of  sight  entirely.  From  these  guerrilla 
bands  sprang  many  infamous  highwaymen  of  later  years 
whose  names  clogged  the  criminal  records.  Their 
leader,  William  Clarke  Quantrill,  became  at  once  the 
Cain  and  Judas  of  the  West. 

It  was  the  Summer  of  1863. 

In  the  annals  of  our  Nation  the  Summer  of  1863  is 
without  a  parallel.  When  the  battle  of  Gettysburg 
shook  the  world  with  its  tremendous  explosion  of  human 
passions,  and  civil  war  hung  like  a  millstone  on  the 
Nation's  neck,  even  the  beardless  boys  of  Kansas  shoul 
dered  their  guns  and  marched  away  to  fill  up  the  ranks 
under  the  starry  flag  of  the  Union.  The  state  became 

409 


410  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

then  more  than  ever  a  prey  to  the  guerrilla  bands  who 
plundered  and  slaughtered  with  the  old-time  form  of  the 
border  ruffian. 

In  victory  or  defeat  war  breaks  the  mothers'  hearts. 
Isabel  Darrow's  dark  hair  had  silvery  threads  in  its 
silken  waves,  and  lines  of  sorrow  were  on  her  fair  face. 

The  early  August  days  had  come  and  the  summer 
harvests  were  garnered.  Hiram  and  Isabel  sat  in  the 
shade  of  the  cedars  looking  down  the  westward  line  of 
the  old  Trail. 

"We  have  only  one  boy  left,"  Isabel  said  to  her  hus 
band,  as  the  two  watched  Joe  Darrow  and  Tarley  Pen- 
win  riding  away  toward  Lawrence.  "Will  the  war  last 
long  enough  to  take  him,  too?" 

"  Let  us  hope  not,"  Hiram  answered,  guardedly.  "  Joe 
is  only  seventeen.  The  war  cannot  last  until  he  is 
twenty-one.  What  chums  he  and  Tarleton  have  always 
been!" 

"Yes,"  his  wife  murmured.  "And  Elliot  and  Craig 
are  in  the  East  in  the  same  company  under  Colonel 
Lamond  now,  and  Mark's  heart  has  been  set  on  Lucy  all 
these  years." 

Hiram  Darrow  smiled.  "They  are  oddly  matched," 
he  said. 

"  And  the  strangest  thing  or  it  all  is  that  the  father  of 
these  companions  of  our  boys  tried  once  to  take  the  life 
of  one  of  them.  What  a  sad  and  tragic  career  Penwin 
led! "he  added. 

"And  may  be  leading  still,"  Isabel  suggested,  "but 
we  will  not  blame  the  children.  When  Craig  was  here 
on  his  furlough,  he  told  Mrs.  Lamond  that  the  Colonel 
was  in  the  Rebel  army.  But  the  boy  is  loyal  to  the 
Union." 

"I  did  not  see  much  of  Craig,"  her  husband  said. 


THE     DAWN    OF     DOOM  411 

"He  was  at  Lamond's  a  great  deal,  which  is  but  nat 
ural,  of  course." 

"Of  course,"  Mrs.  Darrow  responded,  and  neither 
spoke  of  what  both  were  thinking. 

Isabel  had  given  Elliot  the  little  gold  chain  and  she 
knew  it  stood  for  a  pledge  between  Beth  and  her  son. 
Craig  had  been  at  home  on  a  five  days'  furlough  in  May, 
and  most  of  his  time  had  been  given  to  the  Lamonds, 
for  he  carried  many  messages  from  his  colonel. 

One  message  intrusted  to  Craig,  however,  he  never 
delivered.  It  said  —  for  David  Lamond  was  the  soul  of 
honor  —  that  the  young  color-bearer  of  the  regiment, 
Elliot  Darrow,  had  not  yet  failed  to  do  a  soldier's  part — 
not  yet. 

When  Joe  and  Tarley  passed  into  the  woodland  on  the 
Trail,  the  Quaker  turned  toward  his  wife. 

"  Isabel,  thee  has  been  a  brave  woman  to  give  up  two 
boys,  but  thee  will  be  braver  still.  Joe  and  Tarley  are 
going  to  Lawrence  to  enlist.  There  is  a  camp  of  a 
dozen  boys  there  already  and  by  the  end  of  the  week 
there  will  be  eighteen  or  twenty  of  them.  They  are  not 
supplied  with  arms  yet,  but  they  go  into  training 
to-morrow." 

Isabel  looked  at  her  husband  with  that  courage  only 
women  possess. 

"Each  year  takes  one,"  she  said,  slowly.  "The  tax 
is  heavy  on  our  homes  and  hearts." 

"It  is  a  crime  that  only  the  light  of  future  history 
can  prove,"  Hiram  said,  sadly.  "I  have  had  to  pay  the 
price  in  ridicule  and  censure  and  insult  because  I  read 
too  literally  the  gentle  order,  'Love  your  enemies,'  be 
cause  to  me  war  is  murder.  And  yet  I  have  tried  to 
serve  my  State." 

Isabel  looked  at  her  husband's  scholarly  face  where 


412  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

kindness  and  firmness  were  written,  and  she  could  under 
stand  why  her  boys  were  good  soldiers. 

"Hiram,  thy  service  will  match  the  soldiers'  strug 
gles,"  she  said,  gently.  "Not  all  the  real  defenders  of 
a  State  are  on  its  battlefields.  Wars  must  end,  but 
down  all  the  future  years  will  the  battle  with  ignorance 
be  waged.  Think  of  the  power  of  John  Speer  and  his 
class  of  men  with  their  independent  printing-presses. 
They  are  defending  Kansas,  no  less  than  Lane  and 
Plumb  and  Moonlight  and  all  the  soldier  heroes  whose 
names  must  be  immortal." 

"  I  have  no  printing-press,  Isabel,"  Darrow  said,  with 
a  smile. 

"But  thy  power  is  measureless,"  his  wife  insisted. 
"From  the  beginning  it  has  been  the  greater  part  to 
build  up  schools ;  to  match  the  spelling-book  against  the 
shotgun;  the  rules  of  grammar  against  the  rules  of 
military  strategy;  the  college  dome  against  battlemented 
fortress.  In  Gettysburg  great  generals  overcame  great 
generals  in  a  noble  cause.  But  the  cost,  oh,  Hiram  Dar 
row,  the  cost  of  conquest  in  that  victory ! " 

"Its  value  history  alone  must  judge,  dearie.  We  can 
read  our  own  duty  only  by  the  light  given  to  us,"  Hiram 
said. 

"And  by  that  light,'*  Isabel  responded,  "I  see  thy 
power  increase.  In  the  legislature  last  Winter,  it  was 
for  thee  and  citizen-soldiers  like  thyself  to  win  for 
Kansas  her  great  schools  for  higher  learning.  When 
the  University  thy  influence  helped  most  to  create  shall 
stand  some  day  upon  Mount  Oread,  Lawrence,  over 
which  it  keeps  guard,  will  not  be  an  altar  for  blood 
offerings ;  and  border  wars  will  exist  only  in  the  memo 
ries  of  a  cruel  age.  For  the  bloodless  victories  of  higher 
learning  will  win  the  land  to  fruitfulness  and  beauty. 


THE    DAWN    OF    DOOM  413 

Whoever  wears  the  honors  of  war,  the  honors  of  peace 
must  come  to  men  like  thee." 

So  these  two,  seeing  far  into  the  future,  sat  in  the 
August  evening  in  the  home  the  war  was  leaving  child 
less  now  and  talked  of  the  larger  views  of  life.  And 
by  such  as  these  two  does  a  state  grow  to  Empire. 

In  the  shadows  of  the  same  August  night,  in  the  Mis 
souri  woods,  a  guerrilla  band  of  three  hundred  men 
was  gathered.  The  night  was  hot,  and  in  the  woodland, 
intensely  dark,  little  fire  smudges  here  and  there  about 
the  camp  drove  off  the  mosquitoes,  and  dimly  revealed 
the  faces  and  forms  of  men  whom  darkness  flattered 
more  than  daylight  did.  Heavy,  rough,  reckless  men 
they  were,  and  as  they  sprawled  about  in  the  shadows, 
or  crouched  in  the  faint  gloom,  there  was  about  them  a 
suggestion  of  the  jungle  beast,  mingled  with  fatal  human 
cunning.  Their  dress  was  of  the  frontier  type,  with 
heavy  boots  outside  of  coarse  pantaloons;  their  hats, 
flung  slouchily  at  their  heads,  were  of  soft  felt,  with 
brims  flared  up  defiantly  in  front,  or  rolling  above  the 
ear.  They  were  decked  with  quill  or  plume,  or  squirrel's 
tail,  or  maybe  some  bit  of  tawdry  jewelry,  or  whisky  or 
tobacco  label. 

But  the  badge  of  this  order  was  the  overshirt  which 
each  man  wore.  This  garment  was  made  of  durable 
stuff,  cut  low  in  front,  with  a  slit  on  the  bosom,  finished 
with  a  rosette  or  bit  of  ruffling.  The  slit  with  the  four 
pockets  and  sometimes  the  tail  was  faced  with  a  bright 
fabric.  These  shirts  varied  in  color  from  brightest  red 
to  dun  and  gray,  and  the  fine  needlework  the  daylight 
would  show  on  some  of  them  told  that  some  woman's 
hand  had  made  it.  Their  fire-arms  were  light  but  dan 
gerous,  mostly  the  Colt's  Navy  revolver,  and  each  man 


414  A    WALL    OP    MEN 

of  the  three  hundred  wore  two  of  them  at  least,  while 
many  had  four,  or  even  six.  Men  do  not  carry  weapons 
they  cannot  use  expertly.  The  six-gunned  men  must 
have  been  ferocious  creatures,  for  all  of  the  guerrilla 
bands  were  dead-shots,  and  when  a  man  can  take  a 
score  of  human  lives  in  five  minutes,  he  must  have  the 
ferocity  that  would  shame  the  jungle  tiger. 

The  leader  of  this  company  sat  facing  the  group  gath 
ered  irregularly  about  him.  He  was  a  slender  man, 
tanned  and  unshaven,  but  beardless,  and  he  bore  all  the 
rough  marks  of  woods  life  about  him.  In  the  uncer 
tain  smudgy  light  his  face  was  not  easily  seen,  and  the 
less  of  light  it  had  the  better  for  it.  Roman  nose,  pale 
complexion,  reddish  hair,  sensual  lips,  shut  with  cruel 
looseness;  expressionless  countenance,  and  inhuman 
eyes  of  uncertain  shallow  blue,  save  when  the  tiger  in 
him  stirred;  then  they  were  green,  toning  to  yellow, 
with  heavy  upper  lids  dropping  strangely  over  them  like 
a  curtain  that  was  dropped  between  himself  and  human 
mercy  —  such  was  William  Clarke  Quantrill  on  this  Au 
gust  night  in  his  guerrilla  camp  in  the  Missouri  woods. 
But  the  name  can  be  set  only  in  letters  of  gore,  for  no 
other  American  citizen  ever  took  so  many  human  lives 
in  wanton  murder  as  this  guerrilla  chieftain  and  out 
law  monster  who  harassed  the  Kansas  border  fifty  years 
ago. 

The  men  about  him  were  the  border  forces  under  their 
captains  who  had  met  here  in  council  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  a  common  purpose.  That  purpose  their  chief 
had  stated  months  before  to  the  Confederate  leaders  in 
Virginia : 

Kansas  should  be  laid  waste  at  once. 

With  this  purpose  Virginia  had  no  concern.  It  was  a 
Western  ruffian's  idea,  and  border  warfare  differed 


THE    DAWN    OF    DOOM  415 

mightily  from  the  skill  and  judgment  displayed  by  the 
West  Point  men  who  commanded  the  able  armies  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy.  With  such  as  Quantrill,  Lee 
and  Jackson  had  no  more  fellowship  than  Grant  and 
Sheridan  could  have  had. 

But  to  these  bands  of  men  in  the  dark  woods'  shadows 
the  demand  "  Kansas  must  be  laid  waste  "  made  a  different 
appeal,  and  here  Quantrill's  genius  found  clay  for  his 
potter's  wheel.  They  gathered  about  their  leader  in  the 
hot  black  shadows,  eager  for  any  work  of  his  planning. 
The  heavy  eyelids  were  drooping  low  over  the  yellow- 
green  eyes,  the  sensual  lips  were  parted  like  a  cat's  for 
snarling,  as  Quantrill  spoke: 

"Kansas  must  be  laid  waste.  Lawrence  is  the  hot-bed 
of  Abolition.  We  can  get  more  money  and  more  re 
venge  there  than  anywhere  else  in  the  State." 

"  But  the  risk  is  too  great,"  a  guerrilla  leader  declared. 
"Think  of  the  distance,  and  the  danger." 

"  I  know  the  hazard  of  the  enterprise,"  Captain  Quan 
trill  exclaimed,  "  but  if  you  never  risk,  you  never  have." 

"The  captain's  right.  Yes,  he's  right,"  came  voices 
from  the  darkness  round  about.  "What's  the  chance? 
Tell  us  how.  We  're  ready." 

"I'll  tell  you  what's  the  chance,"  Quantrill  replied. 
"I've  had  a  man  in  Lawrence  for  a  week.  He's  found 
out  all  we  want  to  know.  I've  just  got  back  from 
Eudora  myself  and  I  know  all  the  roads  up  there.  So 
between  us  we  have  the  situation  clear." 

"Where's  your  man?    Let  him  speak,"  came  the  call. 

Out  of  the  shadows  a  guerrilla  stepped  into  the  dim 
light  where  his  chieftain  sat.  A  huge  fellow  he  was, 
with  a  face  insensible  to  pity.  His  soft  round  hat,  with 
rolled-up  brim,  was  adorned  with  a  plume  strangely  like 
human  hair,  and  he  carried  six  revolvers. 


416  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"I've  been  in  Lawrence  a  week  —  as  a  speculator  — 
stoppin'  at  the  Eldridge  House.  The  town's  just  ripe 
for  pickin'.  There's  no  garrison  there  except  about  a 
dozen  men  north  of  the  river.  The  guns  are  all  locked 
in  the  armory.  They  make  fun  of  any  suggestion  of  a 
raid,  they're  so  damned  sure  there's  no  danger.  They 
could  n't  put  up  any  defence.  The  streets  are  broad  and 
easy  for  horsemen  to  charge  in.  It 's  time  to  strike  right 
now." 

"You  have  heard  the  report."  Quantrill's  deep  voice 
broke  the  silence  following  the  scout's  words.  "  But  let 
me  say  further,  the  march  is  long:  soldiers  behind  us, 
soldiers  before  us ;  we  must  advance  and  retreat  through 
soldiers.  Come,  speak  out,  now ! " 

And  the  captains  spoke: 

"  Lawrence  or  hell,  provided  we  kill  every  male  thing." 

"Lawrence  is  Jim  Lane's  home,  yes." 

"It's  a  Boston  colony,  yes." 

"Lawrence  and  the  torch." 

"  Count  me  in  whenever  there 's  killing." 

So  for  revenge  and  money,  in  the  gloom  of  the  night, 
the  council  laid  its  scheme.  Over  against  a  peaceful, 
helpless  city  was  written  the  word  "  Doom."  Long  lists 
of  names  were  set  in  order;  every  man  and  boy  in 
Lawrence  —  save  a  chosen  few  —  was  marked  for  slaugh 
ter;  all  personal  grudges  were  to  be  fully  glutted;  all 
pillage  sanctioned ;  and  not  a  building  was  to  escape  the 
torch.  One  reservation  only  the  chivalrous,  sensual 
chieftain  demanded :  women  and  children  must  be  spared 
all  indignity.  And  Quantrill's  demands  meant  obedi 
ence.  He  would  shoot  his  best  friend  as  coolly  as  his 
worst  enemy,  if,  indeed,  any  man  could  claim  to  be  his 
best  friend  —  that  was  what  the  yellow-green  tiger  eyes 
under  the  heavy  eyelid  curtains  meant.  And  this  was 


THE    DAWN    OF    DOOM  417 

the  monster  who  in  the  August  of  1863  was  to  lead  in 
a  terrific  assault  upon  a  defenceless  town. 

Why  must  Kansas  be  laid  waste?  The  real  cause, 
amid  a  volume  of  excuses  offered,  lay  in  the  hatred  of 
the  Pro-Slavery  spirit  toward  the  staunch,  invincible 
young  city  of  Lawrence,  and  in  the  depraved,  ferocious 
spirit  of  William  Clarke  Quantrill.  For  five  years,  before 
he  was  outlawed  in  1862,  he  had  scourged  the  State. 
Here  he  had  led  a  life  of  crime,  and  when  he  was 
driven  from  its  confines,  he  carried  with  him  a  bitterness 
only  such  a  nature  as  his  could  compass.  Across  the 
border  he  found  his  place  by  natural  selection  with  the 
Pro-Slavery  ruffians,  and  he  combined  their  cause  with 
his  own.  He  hated  Kansas  as  a  murderer  hates  the  spot 
where  his  deed  of  infamy  is  laid,  and  he  was  lured  back 
to  it  by  the  same  mental  law.  He  knew  Kansas  ought 
to  destroy  him.  Hence  he  would  strike  first.  The  time 
to  act  was  now;  the  place,  Lawrence. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  night,  for  the  thing  was  hatched 
in  the  dark  of  the  moon,  a  horseman  was  riding  across 
the  Missouri  countryside  toward  the  guerrilla  camp. 
The  horse  might  have  belonged  to  a  border  man;  the 
code  of  these  men  allowed  them  letters  of  marque  for 
good  horses  always ;  but  the  rider  was  not  of  the  border 
type.  He  rode  as  easily  as  they,  but  his  was  a  military 
figure,  and  even  in  the  shadowy  starlight  there  was 
something  that  marked  him  for  a  gentleman,  not  a  guer 
rilla.  If  the  light  had  been  stronger,  one  could  have 
read  in  the  still  handsome  face  the  lines  of  cruelty  that 
his  hidden  crimes  and  selfish  greed  and  trickery  had  put 
there.  He  was  seeking  the  camp  of  Quantrill  on  a 
friendly  errand.  Yet  he  was  the  father  of  a  son  who 
had  helped  to  drive  Pickett  back  at  Gettysburg  a  month 


418  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

before,  and  of  a  son  just  beginning  his  camp  life  In 
Lawrence,  and  of  a  sweet-faced  daughter  independently 
earning  her  living  —  Boniface  Penwin,  product  of  a  slave- 
ridden  land,  a  gentleman's  love  of  culture  and  a  gam 
bler's  passion.  Behind  him  a  swift-footed  figure  pressed 
silently  and  cautiously,  never  varying  his  half -running, 
half-walking  gait. 

It  was  midnight  when  Penwin  reached  the  guerrilla 
camp.  He  seemed  familiar  with  the  place,  for  he  tied 
his  horse  and  walked  about  the  outer  circle  of  sleeping 
men  with  the  ease  of  one  who  knew  his  ground.  In 
the  blackness  beyond  the  camp,  lighted  yet  by  little 
smudgy  flares,  the  footman  waited.  Still  and  dark,  as 
the  blackness  about  him,  he  watched  Colonel  Penwin 
moving  silently  along  until  he  seemed  to  find  the  man  he 
wanted.  The  man  was  a  light  sleeper,  for  Penwin  roused 
him  easily,  and  the  colonel's  presence  brought  no  sur 
prise  to  him.  The  two,  without  a  word,  sought  the 
shadows  where  the  watcher  stood.  He  dropped  to  the 
ground  and  lay  like  a  dead  man,  or  a  sleeping  guerrilla. 
Their  conference  was  brief  and  the  prostrate  listener 
heard  it  all. 

"You'll  do  that  for  me,  Bill?"  the  horseman  asked. 
"Don't  play  the  coward  this  time  like  you  did  at  Dar- 
row's  and  Nethercote's  and  in  Coleman's  Dell." 

"But  we  are  not  to  molest  the  ladies,"  Bill  urged. 
"You  know  Captain  Quantrill.  And  the  chances  are 
one  in  a  thousand  I  'd  have  the  good  luck  to  steal  it,  even 
if  I  could  get  away  from  the  band." 

"Bill,  you  know  Boniface  Penwin.  It's  a  thousand 
dollars,  good  Confederate  money,  if  you  do  it,"  the 
colonel  urged. 

"I '11  do  it,"  Bill  agreed. 

Then  the  horseman  mounted  and  retraced  his  way 


THE     DAWN    OF    DOOM  419 

toward  Kansas  City,  and  behind  him  trotted  the  swift 
footman. 

It  was  Pelathe,  the  Shawnee  Indian;  and  the  man 
who  had  been  waiting  for  Penwin  was  the  coward,  Bill, 
of  the  old  border  strife  days  in  the  Vinland  Valley. 

The  hot  August  day  slipped  into  a  still  evening.  The 
first  quarter  of  the  moon  was  due  two  nights  hence,  and 
by  midnight  there  was  no  light  save  the  glitter  of  far 
away  pitiless  stars. 

Where  the  old  Leavenworth  and  Fort  Scott  military 
road  crosses  the  State  line  into  Missouri  a  body  of  four 
hundred  fifty  men  swept  into  Kansas;  and  in  the 
dusk  of  the  evening  pushed  rapidly  toward  the  north 
west.  They  were  splendidly  mounted,  and  splendidly 
they  rode.  In  all  the  history  of  warfare  perhaps  no 
cavalry  organization  ever  surpassed  the  horsemanship 
of  this  company  riding  now  across  the  beautiful  uplands 
and  fertile  valleys  toward  the  doomed  city  of  Lawrence. 

At  the  head  of  the  band  was  their  leader,  Quantrill, 
mounted  on  a  great  brown  horse.  Slender,  erect,  firm- 
seated  as  a  Centaur,  in  the  deepening  twilight  he  made 
a  striking  figure  outlined  against  the  western  horizon. 
He  wore  cavalry  boots,  gray  pantaloons,  and  a  brown 
woolen  guerrilla  over-shirt,  beautifully  embroidered  by 
a  woman's  hands,  for,  monster  that  he  was,  Quantrill 
had  many  loves.  He  wore  a  soft  black  hat  with  a 
gold  cord  about  it,  and  he  was  heavily  armed.  The 
merciful  night  shadows  concealed  the  exultation  and 
dogged  determination  of  the  face,  the  compressed  lips, 
and  the  fiendish  blood  lust  of  the  tiger  eyes,  veiled  by 
low-hanging  lids. 

Behind  him  surged  his  force  of  skilled  horsemen.  Rid 
ing  recklessly  in  rough  but  certain  order,  they  seemed 


420  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

to  challenge  all  the  fates  of  chance  and  furies  of  evil  to 
thwart  them  in  their  pursuit  of  an  inhuman  purpose. 
In  this  company  were  some  misguided  men,  products  of 
war  and  disaster,  but  hardly  comprehending  the  atroc 
ity  of  this  night's  business.  But  the  main  body  were 
seasoned  guerrillas,  the  outgrowth  of  the  old  border 
ruffian  days.  Their  leaders  were  Younger  and  the 
James  boys  of  later  bandit  infamy;  with  George  Todd, 
whose  thirst  for  blood  is  beyond  the  comprehension  of 
these  safe  and  happy  days;  and  Bill  Anderson,  who 
burned  men  alive,  and  adorned  his  horse's  head  stall  with 
women's  scalps. 

So,  in  the  darkness  of  the  peaceful  midnight  land, 
sweet  with  the  summer  dew,  this  band,  nearly  half  a 
thousand  strong,  writhed  its  huge  lengths  along  the 
prairie  trails,  swift,  merciless,  and  deadly ;  while  the  town 
for  which  its  vencm  was  gathered  slept  in  serene  secur 
ity,  unconscious  of  the  peril  surging  toward  it.  Where 
the  roadways  were  puzzling,  lone  farmhouses  were 
roused  and  a  guide  demanded,  at  the  revolver's  muzzle, 
to  show  the  way  to  Lawrence.  If  the  guide  resembled 
any  one  known  to  have  once  lived  in  Missouri,  or  if  he 
could  not  furnish  the  information  wanted,  or  if  he  was 
no  longer  needed,  he  was  left  dead  by  the  way.  Ten 
guides  within  eight  miles  fell  for  no  other  crime  than 
this.  Evening  deepened  into  night.  Midnight  came, 
and  then  the  dank  chill  of  the  prairie  lands  in  the  dead 
darkness  of  the  hours  that  follow;  and  still  the  fiends 
rode  madly  on. 

The  first  light  was  in  the  eastern  sky.  The  song  birds 
had  begun  their  little  trills  of  joy,  and  then  the  crow 
ing  of  the  cocks  announced  the  breaking  of  a  new  day. 
On  a  height  to  the  southeast  of  Lawrence  the  pack 
halted.  Before  them  lay  the  beautiful  Wakarusa.  To 


THE    DAWN    OF    DOOM  421 

the  south  was  the  Vinland  Valley.  Across  the  Kaw, 
gleaming  in  the  first  crimson  glamour  of  morning,  were 
the  fertile  Delaware  holdings,  and  away  to  the  west 
Night's  curtains,  misty  and  gray  in  the  paling  gloom, 
rolled  back  to  reveal  a  land, 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord. 

Mount  Oread  wore  now  the  crown  of  a  sweet  summer 
dawn;  and  down  by  the  riverside,  in  purple  shadows 
still,  Lawrence  was  in  its  beauty  sleep,  dreaming  not  of 
aught  it  had  to  fear. 

On  the  brow  of  the  height  the  dust-grimed  men,  wild- 
eyed  from  their  sleepless  night  of  hard  riding,  twined 
themselves  behind  their  leader  in  deadly  pause  like  a 
serpent  about  to  strike. 

Quantrill  sat  like  a  figure  carved  in  stone,  looking 
out  over  the  landscape  and  down  at  the  city  he  had 
doomed  to  death  because  it  held  the  record  of  his  atro 
cious  crimes  against  him.  Now  he  had  come  in  his 
power,  and  he  gloated  over  his  opportunity;  grasping 
closer  the  long  death-roll,  that  he  might  let  none  escape, 
he  rode  along  the  silent  ranks  of  waiting  men.  At  the 
last  minute  many  of  these  hesitated.  There  were  some 
humane  hearts  under  the  guerrilla  shirts.  They  could 
rob  and  murder  after  the  highway  fashion  of  lawless 
ness,  and  in  the  license  of  Civil  War  banditti.  But  in 
the  gracious  beauty  of  this  August  dawn,  the  soft,  cool 
airs  of  the  summer  morning  fanning  their  feverish 
cheeks ;  the  beauty  of  dew-diamond  grasses,  and  rainbow 
tinted  waves  of  prairie  verdure,  green  and  orange  and 
yellow,  shimmering  in  the  golden  glory  of  the  new-born 
day ;  the  soft  coo  of  birds  astir,  the  faint  homey  sounds 
of  awakening  farmyards;  and  the  utter  absence  of  per 
sonal  cause  for  revenge ;  with  danger  to  each  man  loom- 


422  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

ing  near  —  not  a  few  were  ready  to  hold  back  their 
hands  from  such  foul  cruelty  against  the  helpless  and 
innocent. 

Along  the  silent  ranks  their  leader  passed. 

"  You  can  do  as  you  please,"  he  cried,  daring.  "  I 
am  going  into  Lawrence." 

He  wheeled  his  horse  about  and  driving  his  spurs 
deep  into  its  sides,  he  leaped  onward  toward  the  goal  of 
his  maniac  mission.  The  men  caught  the  poison  of  his 
spirit.  In  a  column  of  fours  they  uncoiled,  and  with 
yells  and  curses  they  lunged  forward  in  huge  ripples, 
and  reckless  as  demons,  mad  as  fiends,  they  hurled 
themselves  upon  the  defenceless  town  just  waking  from 
its  peaceful  slumber. 

Strange  is  the  story  of  this  morning's  doing.  And 
tragically  strange  that  no  warning  should  have  fore 
told,  nor  cry  of  alarm  have  reached  hither,  nor  means 
of  rescue  availed.  Military  authorities  on  the  Missouri 
line  had  ignored  the  reports  of  possible  raids  being 
planned,  and  Fate  played  a  cruel  hand  that  night  in  hold 
ing  back  the  heroic  ones  who  risked  their  lives  to  carry 
the  alarm  to  Lawrence. 

At  midnight  a  courier  had  brought  the  news  to  the 
Union  headquarters  in  Kansas  City  that  a  great  band  of 
guerrillas  in  all  their  war  paint  was  whirling  into  Kan 
sas;  and  the  headquarters  knew  that  Doom  was  riding 
westward  with  that  invading  gang.  But  Lawrence  was 
two  score  miles  away.  No  telegraph,  no  telephone, 
no  warning  rocket  shot  heavenward,  no  wireless  ripple 
of  rescuing  breath  could  avail.  South  of  the  Kaw 
River  was  half  a  regiment  of  murderers  no  man  might 
pass  and  live.  North  of  the  river  was  the  rough,  un 
familiar  region  traversed  by  no  broad  highways,  and  with 
only  a  few  beaten  trails. 


THE    DAWN    OF    DOOM  423 

Rose  up  then  Pelathe,  the  Shawnee, —  the  Eagle,  for 
that  is  the  meaning  of  Pelathe.  He  had  come  in  with 
the  courier  who  brought  the  news. 

"  I  will  try,  if  you  will  let  me  go!* 

And  they  let  him  go. 

Into  the  blackness  of  the  midnight  he  plunged  to  pawn 
his  life,  if  need  be,  and  save  a  city.  He  was  mounted  on 
a  sorrel  mare,  a  Kentucky  thoroughbred  of  the  finest 
equine  instinct  and  power.  He  had  the  Red  man's  dress 
and  the  white  man's  firearms,  the  spirit  of  a  hero,  and 
the  Christian's  unselfish  loyalty.  Moreover,  he  knew 
with  an  Indian's  acuteness  the  streams  and  woods  and 
prairies  that  lay  north  of  the  Kaw,  and  he  chose  his  way 
wisely. 

It  was  one  by  the  clock  when  Pelathe  trotted  out  ot 
old  Quindaro,  where  his  journey  proper  began,  and 
threaded  his  way  westward.  He  rode  leisurely  at  first 
for  wisdom's  sake.  By  two  o'clock  his  speed  was  terrific, 
and  that  magnificent  strength  only  a  thoroughbred 
possesses,  told  out  in  the  long  even  strokes  of  flying 
hoofs.  Three  o'clock,  and  still  the  sorrel  mare  kept  up 
her  gait  undiminished,  but  now  her  breath  came  short 
and  hard. 

Pelathe  halted,  and  with  the  big  red  handkerchief  he 
wore  about  his  neck  he  rubbed  her  limbs  and  body,  and 
led  her  slowly  now.  A  little  water  only  he  let  her  drink, 
and  he  washed  the  foam  from  her  bridle  bits. 

Then  he  was  off  again,  and  again  the  best  blood  of 
Kentucky  was  telling  in  the  splendid  power  of  that 
beautiful  creature  he  bestrode.  The  landscape  reeled  by, 
and  wood,  and  stream,  and  misty  prairie  were  like  ocean 
tides  sweeping  eastward  as  he  swung  away  and  away  to 
the  west.  And  now,  far  before  him  in  the  first  dim  lift- 


424  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

ing  of  the  summer  night  toward  dawning,  he  could  see 
the  black  woodland  in  the  southwest  and  he  knew  that 
Lawrence  was  just  beyond  it.  An  hour  more.  Oh,  God, 
for  one  more  hour  to  do  the  work  of  Him  who  taught 
men  how  to  find  a  life  by  losing  it  I 

But  the  noble  steed  was  failing  now  and  her  breathing, 
the  marvelous  second  wind  that  had  carried  him  so  far, 
was  almost  spent. 

Pelathe  was  fighting  with  Death  for  a  doomed  town. 
Human  life  meant  more  than  the  life  of  even  this  faithful 
animal,  and  in  the  struggle,  the  lesser  must  be  sacrificed. 
He  set  his  face  with  an  Indian's  hardness  and  gripping 
his  hunting  knife,  he  cut  long  gashes  in  the  mare's 
shoulders  and  rubbed  gunpowder  into  them.  She  sprang 
forward  with  fury,  carrying  her  rider  yet  a  few  miles  fur 
ther.  Then  with  a  cry,  once  heard,  never  to  be  forgotten, 
she  fell  beneath  him,  dead.  Down  the  land  went  a  streak 
of  gray.  It  was  Pelathe,  whose  feet,  shod  with  the  swift 
ness  of  a  swift-footed  race,  was  leaping  with  the  long 
lope  of  a  panther  down  the  trail,  hoping  still  to  win  to 
victory. 

Day-dawn  now,  and  the  Delaware  lands,  where  cabins 
nestled  in  the  woodsy  bottoms,  lay  before  him.  Lifting 
up  his  voice,  he  gave  forth  the  long,  quavering  war-cry 
of  a  fighting  people,  that  he  might  call  forth  these  in 
trepid  Delawares  to  his  aid.  Then  he  seized  a  pony  from 
the  nearest  corral  and,  like  a  Plains  Indian  in  full  flight 
for  battle,  he  swirled  along  the  last  lap  of  his  strange 
ride.  And  the  ferry  to  the  Kaw  was  gained.  Beyond  it, 
Lawrence  lay. 

The  August  sun  was  pouring  out  its  glory  of  morning 
light.  The  day  was  rich  with  the  warmth  and  grandeur 
of  mid-summer.  But  across  the  Kaw,  the  tide  of  battle 
already  engulfed  the  doomed  city,  and  Pelathe  had  lost. 


THE    DAWN    OF    DOOM  425 

When  the  voice  of  the  world  shouts  its  chorus, 

Its  paeans  for  those  who  have  won, 
When  the  trumpet  is  sounding  triumphant, 

And  high  to  the  breeze  and  the  sun 

Glad  banners  are  waving,  hand  clapping,  and  hurrying  feet 
Thronging  after  the  laurel-crowned  victors, 

then  remember  we  with  reverence  and  praise  the  men 
who  failed.  No  less  noble  than  Sheridan  and  Paul  Re 
vere,  who  rode  and  won,  is  the  name  of  Pelathe,  who 
rode  and  lost.  Some  day  the  people  of  the  West  will  list 
his  name  in  their  scroll  of  uncrowned  heroes,  for  that  he 
gave  his  best  effort  to  save  what  Fate  had  foredoomed 
should  perish. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
"TIGER!    TIGER!" 

In  the  homes  of  their  rearing, 

Yet  warm  with  their  lives, 
Ye  wait  the  dead  only, 

Poor  children  and  wives! 

—  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

ON  the  night  of  the  "  Peace-party  "  long  ago,  the  little 
Merriford  girls  and  the  little  Speer  boys  had  raced 
about  the  rooms  together.  Annie  and  Nellie  Merriford 
were  quite  young  grown-ups  now.  At  least  Joe  and  Tar- 
ley  thought  so.  And  the  Speer  boys  were  half-way  be 
tween  boyhood  and  manhood.  Mark  Darrow  came  back 
to  Kansas  in  August  for  a  brief  two  days;  one  at  the 
cedar-sheltered  home  overlooking  the  Vinland  Valley, 
the  Darrarat  still  to  the  Darrow  boys.  The  other  day  he 
spent  in  Lawrence.  The  morning  after  that  he  must 
report  to  General  Ewing's  headquarters  at  Kansas  City. 
Wars  do  not  curb  the  spirit  of  youth.  While  Quan- 
trill's  band  was  swinging  across  the  countryside  in  the 
Summer  evening  with  its  lists  of  boys'  names  set  in  black 
for  its  own  black  purposes,  Tarley  and  Joe  and  the  Merri 
ford  girls,  with  Lucy  and  Mark,  and  the  Speers,  and 
other  young  people,  spent  a  gay  evening  together.  The 
Kaw  was  swollen  with  heavy  rains  up  to  the  valley  and 
the  ferry  was  out  of  commission.  The  young  folks  went 
down  to  the  river  and  watched  the  muddy  tides  pour 
along.  Then  they  came  back  to  Rosalind  St.  Felix's  home 

426 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  427 

on  the  edge  of  town  and  spent  the  last  happy  hours  of 
a  care-free  day.  Since  the  sacking  of  Lawrence  in  '56, 
the  St.  Felix  home  had  been  a  cottage  in  the  lower  land 
well  to  the  southeast.  Rosalind  and  Lucy,  with  Aunt 
Crystal  for  a  servant,  called  themselves  the  Southern 
Confederacy,  but  there  was  no  more  popular  Union  home 
in  Lawrence  than  the  St.  Felix  home. 

On  the  way  from  the  ferry,  Mark  and  Lucy  loitered 
behind  the  others. 

"Lucy,"  Mark  said.  "Do  you  always  want  to  live 
down  in  the  lowland  and  be  a  part  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  nice  down  there,"  Lucy  replied,  "  and  it  is  all 
the  home  I  have." 

Lucy  was  very  "sweet  and  lazy"  when  she  chose  to 
be,  and  although  she  had  only  her  own  hands  to  support 
herself,  she  never  lost  her  sunny  spirit,  and  seldom  took 
trouble  in  for  a  companion. 

"But,  Lucy,  you  can't  always  take  care  of  yourself 
alone."  Mark  drew  her  arm  closer  through  his  own. 

"Then  I'll  hunt  somebody  else  to  take  care  of  too. 
Would  you  like  any  looking  after  then?"  Lucy  drawled 
in  a  soft  Southern  voice. 

They  were  standing  by  a  thick  clump  of  bushes  grow 
ing  about  an  old  well  by  the  wayside. 

"  Girlie,  I  'm  going  away  in  the  morning.  Father  and 
mother  are  at  Merriford's  for  the  night.  Patty  Wren 
and  Beth  are  at  Rosalind's.  Coke  will  be  up  here  early 
to  take  them  home.  Everybody  that's  worth  anything, 
except  Ellie,  is  here  to  tell  me  good-bye.  Sweetheart,  let 
me  take  away  your  promise  to  leave  the  'Confederacy* 
and  join  the  '  Union '  when  the  war  is  over." 

He  dropped  her  arm  and  took  both  of  her  hands  as 
they  stood  by  the  bushes  at  the  old  well. 


428  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  Mark,  I  always  thought  you  'd  come  like  a  hero  and 
rescue  me  from  peril  and  we  would  remember  it  for  the 
fierceness  of  things,"  Lucy  said,  sweetly.  "  I  Ve  always 
liked  you  —  only  this  is  so  very  unromantic.  You  ought 
to  be  saving  my  life,  or  something  like  that ;  with  such  a 
thrill  I'd  never  forget  the  minute.  When  you  can  do 
that,  Mark,  then  maybe  I  '11  say  '  yes  *  to  anything." 

"  Oh,  well,  Lucy,  let 's  turn  the  tables.  Just  play  that 
you  save  me  instead,"  Mark  urged.  "  Poke  me  down  in 
this  old  well  and  stand  guard  over  me  to  ward  off  my 
foes.  That  would  make  you  remember  the  time  all  right. 
Shall  I  jump  in?" 

"Whenever  I  do  that,  you'll  know  I  care  a  whole  lot 
more  for  you  than  I  ever  could  for  anybody  else,"  and 
Lucy  refused  to  consider  the  matter  further. 

Coke  Wren  rode  into  Lawrence  late  that  night.  Patty 
wanted  to  go  home  in  the  cool  of  the  morning  and  Coke 
knew  when  that  time  came  for  Patty.  The  St.  Felix 
household  was  early  astir.  Aunt  Crystal  was  getting 
breakfast  and  the  girls  were  chattering  in  their  room. 

"That's  a  pretty  chain,  Beth,"  Lucy  exclaimed,  as 
Beth  was  finishing  her  dressing.  "  Let  me  try  it  on." 

Lucy  had  heard  the  early  history  of  that  quaint  trinket 
from  Mark,  and  it  meant  more  to  her  since  what  had 
passed  between  Mark  and  herself. 

Beth  had  unclasped  the  dainty  thing  and  put  it  in  her 
hand,  when  a  fierce  shouting,  a  volley  of  curses,  and  the 
roar  of  cavalry  hoofs  filled  the  air.  Lucy,  impulsive  as 
ever,  dropped  the  chain  on  the  dresser,  and  the  girls 
rushed  to  the  gate,  forgetful  of  everything  else  in  this 
sudden  outburst  of  noise.  Beth  could  not  blame  Lucy 
for  her  heedlessness,  and  in  the  counting  up  of  lost  treas 
ures  in  the  days  that  followed  nobody  ever  knew  how 
much  sorrow  the  careless  flinging  down  of  that  gold 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  429 

chain  brought  to  the  girl  who  had  worn  it  as  a  sacred 
pledge. 

Across  the  open  country  f)  om  the  southeast  came  a 
swarm  of  dark-faced  men,  bearing  down  upon  them.  The 
girls  were  terror-stricken  and  could  not  move.  Beth  was 
conscious  of  the  cry,  "Dr.  St.  Felix's  house.  Leave  it 
alone,"  and  of  the  men  passing  like  a  hurricane. 

Gazing  motionless  as  a  bird  in  the  fascination  of  a 
snake,  she  noted  one  of  the  riders  suddenly  rein  up  at  the 
gate,  and  she  recognized  Bill,  the  Coward,  whose  face 
she  had  seen  in  the  ravine  on  the  winter  morning  during 
the  Wakarusa  War.  Beth  had  never  forgotten  that  man's 
face.  There  was  a  look  of  exultation  on  it  as  of  one  who 
had  come  unexpectedly  upon  a  coveted  opportunity.  He 
stared  at  Beth,  and  at  the  house,  and  wheeling  his  horse, 
he  rode  half  round  it.  As  he  turned  back  he  said  not  un 
pleasantly  : 

"  Ladies,  you  won't  be  molested.  No  woman  will  be 
harmed.  If  you  have  any  friends  you  want  to  pass  that 
word  to,  run  quick  and  do  it.  But  no  man  will  escape," 
he  added,  savagely. 

Then  he  galloped  on  and  soon  he  was  smeared  into  the 
dust  and  blackness  of  the  hurrying  pack.  If  Quantrill 
had  heard  this  warning  given  on  the  beginning  of  this 
morning's  awful  work,  he  would  have  shot  the  one  who 
gave  it  without  a  word.  But  Bill,  the  Coward,  could  not 
be  true  to  any  cause  very  long. 

The  cavalcade  of  four  hundred  fifty  guerrillas,  with 
their  brilliantly  dyed  over-shirts,  their  rakishly  slouched 
hats,  their  long  matted  hair  flying  in  the  wind,  their 
bridle  reins  in  their  teeth  or  flung  across  the  saddle  bow, 
their  deadly  revolvers  cocked,  their  horses  at  full  gallop, 
swirled  along  like  a  tornado  of  human  hate  and  fell  upon 
the  city  in  its  destroying  power. 


430  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

The  boys'  camp,  where  twenty-one  young  patriots 
slept,  lay  in  the  track  of  the  cyclone.  They  wore  the  sol 
dier's  uniform,  but  as  yet  they  were  unarmed.  Above 
their  tents  the  flag  floated  lazily  on  the  morning  breeze. 
The  guerrillas  struck  this  camp  first  and  rode  it  down, 
trampling  the  half -wakened,  beardless  boys  to  their  death 
or  shooting  them  without  quarter.  In  the  terrible  panic 
amid  the  shower  of  curses  and  storm  of  bullets  and  thun 
dering  crash  of  horses'  feet,  only  five  escaped.  Tarley 
and  Joe  lay  at  the  middle  of  the  camp  and  were  up  with 
first  shouts.  The  flag  floated  just  above  them,  and  in 
the  avalanche  of  slaughter  hurling  down  upon  them 
Tarley  caught  the  beautiful  banner  and  with  Joe,  ran  for 
his  life. 

The  two  leaped  toward  a  dwelling  nearby.  Joe  was 
a  step  ahead  and  he  sprang  through  an  open  kitchen  win 
dow.  As  he  turned  to  drag  Tarley  in  also,  he  saw  the 
boy  with  whom  he  had  played  and  worked  through  eight 
of  his  boyhood  years,  pleading  for  his  life  with  face 
upturned  to  a  brute  on  horseback.  But  "no  quarter" 
was  the  cry  that  day. 

Joe  saw  Tarley  wrap  the  Stars  and  Stripes  about  his 
shoulders  as  if  to  ward  off  his  enemy,  then  his  face  grew 
white  —  and  that  was  all. 

Joe  ran  from  the  house  as  a  guerrilla  came  crashing  into 
it.  In  the  street  the  man  who  killed  Tarley  had  tied 
the  Star-spangled  Banner  to  his  horse's  tail  and  was 
dashing  away  with  the  flag  trailing  in  the  dust  behind 
him. 

"I'd  rather  be  Tarley  than  that  man  if  I  should  live 
till  Eternity  grew  old,"  Joe  thought,  and  then  he  ran 
with  the  speed  of  despair  toward  the  shelter  of  the  bushes 
by  the  Kaw  River. 

Tarley  lay  where  the  man  —  one  Skaggs  by  name  — 


Shooting  them  without  quarter 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  431 

had  left  him.  In  his  fiercely  clinched  fist  was  a  bit  of 
blue  with  a  white  star  torn  from  the  old  flag,  as  in  his 
last  moment  it  was  wrested  from  him.  On  his  boyish 
face,  however,  the  smile  was  not  of  war,  but  of  eternal 
peace.  They  pinned  that  star  on  his  bosom  the  next  day. 
And  Hiram  Darrow,  gazing  down  upon  him,  said: 

"So  Winthrop  Merriford's  boy  perished.*' 

While  the  boys'  camp  was  being  destroyed,  Quantrill 
and  his  lieutenant  rode  headlong  up  Massachusetts 
Avenue,  firing  one  to  the  left  and  the  other  to  the  right, 
until  they  reached  the  Kaw  River.  Cutting  the  cable  of 
the  ferry,  they  severed  the  possibility  of  aid  coming  in 
from  the  north  side,  and  the  town  was  wholly  at  their 
mercy. 

It  was  waking  now,  but  the  meaning  of  the  uproar  had 
scarcely  dawned  on  the  startled  citizens  when  the  shout, 
"On  to  the  hotel,"  filled  the  air.  Before  the  Eldridge 
House  the  pack  gathered.  It  was  a  splendid  hostelry, 
built  of  brick,  four  stories  high,  well  equipped  and  strong 
as  a  fort.  The  only  thing  in  Lawrence  that  Quantrill's 
men  feared  that  day  was  the  Eldridge  House.  Any  show 
of  resistance  here  would  have  checked  the  tide  of  attack, 
for  the  outlaw  and  the  guerrilla  is  by  occupation  a  cow 
ard,  and  his  trade  is  plied  only  by  cowardly  methods. 
Men  in  honorable  warfare  win  by  force,  and  strategy,  and 
courageous  daring.  The  border  raider  must  always  watch 
for  the  ambush  and  the  bullet  by  which  alone  he  himself 
can  win,  and  he  falls  before  the  fearless  foe. 

But  the  Eldridge  House  had  no  means,  nor  controlling 
mind,  to  meet  such  a  fierce  and  sudden  enemy.  It  offered 
no  resistance  and  amid  looting  and  riot  it  was  given  to 
the  flames. 

Before  it  Quantrill,  his  beardless,  sun-browned  face 
aglow  with  the  sense  of  his  power,  his  eyes  yellow-green 


432  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

with  viper  poison,  rising  in  his  stirrups  and  waving  his 
hand,  dismissed  his  bands  with  the  supreme  order: 

"Kill!  kill!  burn!  burn!  and  you  will  make  no  mis 
take." 

And  they  burst  upon  the  town  dazed  and  defenceless 
under  their  smoking  guns  and  swinging  firebrands. 

Meanwhile,  back  at  the  St.  Felix  home,  Patty  Wren 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"No  man  will  escape.  They're  goin'  to  kill  all  the 
men.  I  '11  bet  they  don't  get  Cokey.  Let 's  run  like  mad 
dogs,  girls,  and  warn  everybody  we  can." 

"I'll  find  Mark,"  Lucy  cried,  and  with  the  word  she 
was  off. 

"Run,  Patty,  and  tell  Coke.  I'll  get  to  Merriford's 
somehow.  Rosalind,  can  you  find  Mr.  Speer  and  the 
boys?"  Beth  urged. 

"  Oh,  the  boys  slept  in  the  printing  office  last  night. 
They  went  there  from  here,"  Rosalind  exclaimed.  "  I  '11 
try  to  reach  them." 

"  But  Tarley  and  Joe,"  Aunt  Crystal  wailed. 

"Oh,  they're  only  boys,  Auntie.  They  won't  harm 
boys,"  Rosalind  assured  her.  "  You  must  stay  on  guard 
here  till  we  get  back." 

"Oh,  Lord,  guard  me  then,"  the  old  woman  moaned. 
"Are  you  all  sure  about  my  boys?" 

But  the  girls  were  off,  and  Aunt  Crystal  ran  into  the 
house  and  began  to  fasten  the  doors.  As  she  fumbled  at 
the  locks  she  suddenly  felt  a  revolver  against  her  ear  and 
a  command  to  keep  still. 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  she  shrieked,  then  collapsed,  wordless 
under  the  gun  of  the  coward  Bill. 

"  Get  up  and  do  as  I  say,  and  you  won't  be  hurt,"  he 
said. 

The  trembling  woman  rose  to  her  feet. 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  433 

"  Go  to  the  young  ladies'  room  and  find  the  gold  chain 
Miss  Lamond  wears.  March ! "  he  commanded. 

"Miss  Beth  done  wearin'  dat  chain,"  the  negress  fal 
tered  out. 

"  She  did  n't  have  it  on  just  now.  You  find  it  for  me 
or  you  '11  never  leave  this  house  alive." 

Then  to  himself  Bill  added:  "Never  expected  such 
luck  as  this.  It's  better 'n  cuttin*  away  from  Quantrill 
and  hangin'  around  Lamond's  house  for  days  tryin* 
to  get  that  chain,  an*  slim  chance  ever  gettin'  to  lay 
my  hands  on  it.  Well,  I  'm  a  good  thousand  dollars  ahead 
right  now." 

Aunt  Crystal,  believing  her  time  had  come,  led  the  way 
to  the  girls'  room.  There  lay  the  chain  on  the  dresser 
where  Lucy  had  dropped  it.  Bill,  the  Coward,  caught  it 
quickly. 

"Now,  you  ever  say  one  word  about  this  and  you'll 
get  yours.  Down  on  your  knees  and  swear  you  '11  keep 
your  mouth  shut." 

Poor  old  Aunt  Crystal,  with  a  six-shooter  in  her  face, 
dropped  to  her  knees  and  mumbled  an  oath  to  keep  silent. 
When  she  stood  up  the  raider  was  gone. 

"  I  ain't  gwine  to  stay  here  and  be  killed  and  robbed," 
she  cried,  and  she  rushed  out  of  the  back  door  and  started 
toward  the  Kaw  River. 

Lucy  Penwin  had  sought  the  house  where  Mark  was 
a  guest  for  the  night.  He  had  risen  early  and  was  slip 
ping  out  of  the  side  door  that  he  might  not  disturb  the 
household,  when  he  ran  plump  into  Lucy.  And  at  the 
same  moment  the  uproar  from  the  boys'  camp  burst 
upon  him. 

"  Oh,  Mark,"  Lucy  cried  excitedly,  catching  him  about 
the  neck  and  clinging  to  him.  "Come  quick.  Come 
with  me!" 


434  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Mark  threw  his  arms  about  her,  and  kissing  her  up 
turned  face,  exclaimed: 

"Let's  not  come.  Let's  just  stay.  What's  all  this 
awful  noise,  Lucy?" 

But  Lucy's  white  face  and  the  roar  of  the  fray's  be 
ginning  checked  him. 

"  It 's  a  band  of  raiders  and  they  '11  kill  every  man  they 
see.  They  said  so.  Come  with  me,"  she  implored,  drag 
ging  at  his  arms. 

"Let  me  go  and  fight,  Lucy."  Mark  would  not  be 
dragged. 

"  One  against  a  thousand !     Listen  to  that." 

The  shrieks  from  the  boys'  camp  and  the  charge  upon 
Massachusetts  Avenue  grew  louder. 

"  Mark,  you  can  save  only  yourself.    That 's  all." 

"  But  Joe  and  Tarley,"  Mark  cried. 

"Oh,  you  cannot  save  them  now.  Look  where  their 
camp  was.  It's  all  lost.  Dear  Mark,  come  with  me." 
Lucy's  arms  were  about  Mark's  neck,  and  her  tears  and 
entreaties  were  pitiful. 

Mark  had  been  with  John  Brown  and  faced  the  force 
that  destroyed  Osawatomie.  He  had  held  his  place  in 
the  battle  line  at  Corinth,  and  had  scouted  and  routed 
in  the  fierce  vendetta  struggle  across  Arkansas  and  clear 
into  Texas,  and  he  was  never  a  coward.  It  was  not  fear 
for  his  own  safety,  but  love  for  his  boyhood  sweetheart 
that  controlled  him  now  as  he  hurried  with  Lucy  to 
ward  a  place  of  hiding.  And  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for 
as  they  ran  across  the  track  of  the  destroyers  a  volley  of 
bullets  pursued  them.  They  leaped  behind  the  nearest 
building,  then  fled  towe.-d  the  river.  The  bushes  about 
the  old  abandoned  well  lay  in  their  track.  The  uproar 
was  increasing,  and  beyond  them  a  sentry  was  rushing 
to  cut  off  their  way. 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  435 

"Jump  in  here,  Mark.  I '11  stand  guard.  It's  the  only 
way  to  save  your  life,"  Lucy  implored. 

Mark  sprang  through  the  bushes.  The  well  was  shal 
low,  but  the  rains  had  left  a  few  feet  of  water  in  it. 

"Give  me  a  timber,  Lucy,"  Mark  called,  as  he  hung 
braced  above  the  water. 

Lucy  wrenched  at  a  piece  of  the  tumbled-down  frame 
work,  and  the  whole  thing  fell.  She  gave  a  shriek,  but 
Mark  called  back: 

"All  right,  Lucy;  I've  got  it  now,"  and  he  dragged 
down  a  portion  of  the  frame  above  him.  Not  for  nothing 
had  he  climbed  about  his  Darrarat  in  earlier  years,  for 
he  braced  himself  until  he  had  forced  a  crosspiece  be 
tween  the  rough  walls,  and  then  he  lodged  himself 
securely. 

Overhead  a  tiny  patch  of  summer  sky  shone  clear  and 
blue,  and  oh,  so  pure  and  far  away!  Across  its  crystal 
space  the  fallen  timbers  checkered  the  light.  The  dust 
sifted  down  and  the  bushes  dragged  under  by  the  fall  of 
the  timbers  darkened  the  opening  and  shut  out  the  purer 
air.  Once  Mark  looked  up  to  find  Lucy's  face  watching 
to  see  that  he  was  safe.  He  smiled  up  at  her  as  he 
caught  the  vision,  for  her  eyes  had  told  him  what  her 
lips  had  not  yet  confessed. 

Then  memory  brought  back  to  him  the  October  after 
noon  of  long  ago  when  the  children  of  the  three  settlers' 
families  had  gone  nutting  together.  And  the  picture  of 
the  group  beside  the  old  Trail  on  the  height  above  the 
Vinland  Valley  was  as  vivid  as  on  that  day.  Again 
Mark  saw  the  pretty  girlish  face  of  Lucy  Penwin,  and 
Beth  with  her  golden  hair,  Joe  and  Tarley  joined  by  the 
grapevine  tie,  and  Craig  and  Elliot  on  either  side  of  the 
girl  who  was  to  be  more  and  more  in  their  thoughts  in 
the  coming  years, —  the  ten  years  of  trouble  of  which  the 


436  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

stranger  had  warned  them.  Through  dust  and  dirt  and 
fallen  timbers  and  crushed  weeds  he  had  just  seen  in 
Lucy's  eyes  the  fulfillment  of  that  day's  unrealized  hope. 
Joe  and  Tarley  might  be  lying  under  the  trampling  hoofs 
of  the  guerrillas'  horses,  now  joined  still  in  death.  And 
Elliot  and  Craig  and  Beth?  The  ten  years  of  trouble 
were  telling  off  as  prophesied.  Mark's  senses  seemed 
dulled  a  little,  for  the  air  of  the  old  well  was  foul. 
Then  the  terror  of  the  situation  seized  him,  and  he 
fought  against  the  invisible  poison  gas  clutching  his 
throat  with  its  choking  grip.  He  could  front  the  raiders' 
bullets,  but  there  was  no  weapon  with  which  to  meet 
the  death-power  in  the  walled-in  space  that  held  him. 

The  cry  of  "Kill!  kill!  burn!  burn!"  rolled  over  his 
head.  Men  ran  or  hid,  and  death  pursued  and  spared  not. 
There  was  no  quarter,  no  mercy,  no  truth  to  the  promise 
of  a  safeguard.  Down  almost  to  the  brink  of  the  old 
well  came  Bill  the  Coward  and  half  a  dozen  followers, 
mad  with  the  frenzy  of  the  fray.  As  they  neared  the  well 
Lucy  sprang  in  front  of  them. 

"  Hold  on !  hold  on ! "  she  shouted. 

"  We  don't  harm  ladies,"  Bill  repeated. 

"  But  you  '11  ride  into  that  old  well,"  she  warned  them, 
and  they  reared  and  turned  aside.  "  I  'm  Colonel  Boniface 
Penwin's  daughter.  I  wouldn't  want  a  man  killed  in 
that  well." 

She  smiled  sweetly  up  at  Bill,  who  recognized  her 
now,  for  he  had  been  much  in  the  Penwin  home. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Penwin,"  and  the  horsemen  were 
away. 

"  It 's  all  right,  Mark,"  the  girl  called  softly.  But  only 
a  faint  whistle  answered  her. 

It  seemed  hours  to  Lucy  before  the  tide  of  scourging 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  437 

rolled  back  from  the  city  and  she  dared  to  approach  the 
well.  All  the  while  she  stayed  faithfully  near  and  guarded 
the  place  as  a  loving  woman  guards  her  heart  treasure. 
The  damp  poison  crept  over  Mark.  The  smothered 
opening  above  let  in  only  a  faint  sifting  of  living  air. 
And  when  at  last  Lucy  dared  to  summon  him  he  was 
hardly  conscious.  She  never  could  recall  who  helped 
her  to  rescue  him,  so  terrible  was  the  strain  of  that 
morning  on  her  young  life.  But  she  remembered  the 
face  of  a  Delaware  Indian,  and  of  a  strong  man's  quick 
action.  It  must  have  been  White  Turkey,  for  with 
twenty  other  Delawares  and  Pelathe,  the  Shawnee, 
White  Turkey  manned  the  first  boat  that  crossed  the 
Kaw  at  last  and  pursued  the  guerrillas  on  their  retreat 
to  Missouri.  And  then  Mark  lay  on  the  brown  August 
grasses,  under  the  shelter  of  the  trees.  His  head  was  in 
her  lap  and  she  recalled  his  words. 

"  You  said  you  'd  care  a  whole  lot  more  for  me  than 
for  anybody  else  if  you  ever  got  me  out  of  this  well." 

All  else  was  a  blank  to  both  of  them,  but  from  that 
day  Mark's  brown  hair  was  gray. 

As  Joe  Darrow  ran  for  his  life,  a  bullet  struck  his 
shoulder  and  he  fell  face  downward  in  the  dust.  When 
the  ruffian  who  had  fired  the  bullet  leaped  from  his 
horse  to  finish  his  work,  a  big  black  face  was  thrust 
close  to  Joe's  body,  and  a  voice  in  his  ear  whispered: 

"Play  dead,  Joey!  For  the  love  of  God,  play  dead! 
I '11  help  ye." 

Aunt  Crystal  rolled  the  limp  body  into  her  broad  lap, 
and  Joey  had  no  need  to  play  dead.  The  dust  and  blood 
was  smeared  over  his  unconscious  face  and  he  lay 
prostrate. 

Then  fiercely,  as  all  the  tigress  in  her  nature  roused 


438  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

itself,  she  snarled  out:  "You  done  killed  him  once. 
You  kill  him  again,  and  I'll  tell  on  you!  I'll  tell,  ef 
you  kill  me." 

She  had  recognized  Bill,  who  was  such  a  useful  emis 
sary  of  all  evil  outrage  on  this  black  day.  And  the 
coward  in  Bill  made  him  quail  before  her  whom  he 
could  have  silenced  easily. 

Aunt  Crystal  carried  the  wounded  boy  to  the  shelter 
of  the  brush  down  beside  the  muddy  Kaw,  and  guarded 
him  vengefully  from  every  foe.  He  was  not  unconscious 
long,  but  his  wound  was  severe.  The  old  woman  was 
bending  lovingly  above  him  when  a  sudden  shout  made 
her  leap  to  her  feet  as  one  ruffian  cried  to  another. 

"He's  alive.    Get  him!" 

The  day  seemed  lost  to  the  faithful  old  woman,  but 
desperation  made  her  turn  strategist. 

"  Lord  A'mighty !  look  yander,  quick ! "  she  cried, 
pointing  across  the  river. 

The  guerrilla,  on  the  alert  for  ambush,  held  his  gun 
and  looked.  Beyond  the  Kaw  a  great  willow  leaned 
far  over  the  water.  Lying  out  on  an  overhanging  limb 
above  the  foaming  floods,  Pelathe  the  Shawnee  was 
coiled  like  a  snake  in  the  sun.  He  raised  his  gun  and 
took  aim  at  the  guerrilla. 

"He's  too  far  away,"  the  raider  said,  carelessly,  and 
turned  to  fire  at  Joe.  But  he  had  undergauged  the 
Indian's  range  and  marksmanship.  The  bullet  sped  true, 
and  one  wounded  raider  was  hauled  out  of  town  that 
day,  disqualified  forever  from  guerrilla  service. 

For  hours  Aunt  Crystal  watched  beside  the  wounded 
boy.  At  the  approach  of  horsemen  she  would  compose 
his  form  and  weep  beside  him  as  he  feigned  death.  And 
so  she  saved  him. 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  439 

The  roar  of  the  flames  increased  as  house  after  house 
was  set  on  fire ;  and  the  roar  of  the  raiders  increased  as 
men  fleeing  from  the  flames  were  shot  down. 

John  Speer's  boys  were  sleeping  in  their  father's  print 
ing  office.  One  sleeps  still  where  he  lay  that  morning. 
In  the  ashes  of  the  burned  building,  not  even  a  trace 
of  him  could  be  found.  For  thirteen  years  his  mother 
lived  on,  hoping  always  for  his  return,  and  putting  his 
chair  at  the  table  for  his  coming.  But  he  came  not  any 
more,  and  his  mother  saw  him  not  until  she  went  to  him. 

Annie  Merriford  stood  at  an  upper  window,  spell 
bound  with  fear,  watching  the  scene  of  carnage.  The 
Eldridge  House  was  aflame  and  the  tide  was  sweeping 
toward  her.  Annie  saw  her  childhood  playmate,  young 
John  Speer,  rush  from  his  father's  office,  as  Skaggs, 
with  the  flag  still  swinging  to  his  horse's  tail,  dashed 
around  a  street  corner.  The  ruffian  demanded  money, 
and  the  boy  gave  over  his  purse.  Then,  defenceless  as 
he  stood,  Skaggs  shot  him  down,  and  left  him  near  a 
burning  building.  The  girl  heard  his  cry  for  aid  as  the 
flames  swept  nearer  to  the  helpless  boy.  Another  guer 
rilla  dashed  up,  and  when  he  had  passed  on,  John  was 
no  more,  and  Annie  fell  upon  the  floor,  insensible. 

Patty  Wren  had  just  reached  the  Merriford  home  when 
a  little  old  woman  ran  by.  Her  shoes  were  heavy,  her 
skirts  were  short  and  floppy,  and  her  sunbonnet  was 
big  and  flappy.  Down  the  street  she  rushed  into  the 
back  door  of  a  cottage  just  as  two  guerrillas  burst  open 
the  front  door.  A  frail  old  man,  with  his  white-haired 
wife  and  little  grandson,  cowered  in  terror  before  the 
invaders. 

"  Don't  kill  him.  He 's  old  and  helpless,"  the  trembling 
wife  pleaded  with  men  who  knew  no  mercy. 


440  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"  We  '11  shoot  him  down.  He 's  got  boys  in  the  Union 
army,"  they  yelled  as  the  old  man  stood  up  before 
them. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  a  queer,  squeaky  voice  piped  up,  and 
the  little  old  woman  with  the  floppy  skirts  and  sun- 
bonnet  plunged  to  the  front.  "You  get  right  out,"  she 
shrieked. 

For  an  old  woman,  her  strength  was  wonderful.  She 
sent  one  ruffian  headlong  from  the  door,  and  caught  the 
other's  arm  so  suddenly  that  he  staggered  back,  and  his 
cocked  revolver  sent  a  harmless  bullet  through  the  floor. 

"Here,  babe,"  to  the  grandchild,  "hand  Aunt  Tildy 
that  kettle  of  hot  water,  quick.  We'll  do  some  killin', 
too."  But  the  guerrilla  had  wrenched  himself  loose  and 
disappeared. 

"  I  want  to  know ! "  whined  the  old  woman  with  the 
floppy  skirts,  as  she  disappeared. 

And  in  and  out,  where  brands  were  hottest  and  bullets 
thickest,  and  helpless  humanity  most  needy,  old  Aunt 
Tildy  pushed  her  way,  and  few  guessed  that  a  little 
Yankee  was  taking  on  this  disguise  to  save  the  life  he 
was  risking  every  minute  for  others.  Nobody  could 
forecast  Coke  Wren's  ingenuity  and  resource,  save  that 
it  would  be  turned  toward  humane  effort  always. 

Amid  all  the  bedlam  of  demons,  the  blood  of  the 
Scotch  Lamond  pulsed  fearlessly  now  as  when  on  the 
old  headland  of  Ard  Lamond  the  warring  clan  had  bat 
tled  with  its  foes.  Across  the  street  from  Merriford's 
a  baby's  cries  cut  the  air.  The  house  was  on  fire  and 
the  roof  was  beginning  to  blaze.  Raiders,  mad  with 
unchecked  power,  vengefully  guarded  the  place.  They 
were  burning  out  the  owner  hidden  inside.  The  wails 
came  pitifully  shrill,  and  no  mother's  form  appeared. 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  441 

"  Mrs.  D arrow,  I  must  go,"  Beth  cried,  and  she  darted 
into  the  street. 

In  an  instant  she  was  surrounded  by  plunging  steeds 
and  desperate  men.  Beth  was  beautiful  on  her  wedding 
day  with  all  a  bride's  dainty  loveliness,  but  when  Isabel 
Darrow  saw  her  in  this  terrible  moment  the  woman 
understood  why  her  eldest  born  would  wait  during  the 
years  with  all  of  a  Quaker's  patience  for  what  was  of 
such  royal  worth. 

Daring  and  reckless  for  herself,  true  daughter  of 
David  Lamond,  Beth  faced  the  men  about  her.  In  her 
white  dress,  her  fair  face  bloodless,  her  gray  eyes  flash 
ing  fire,  her  crown  of  golden  hair  gleaming  in  the  morn-' 
ing  light,  she  seemed  a  goddess  of  power  men  dare  not 
insult.  Catching  the  bridle  rein  of  the  nearest  horse, 
she  jerked  it  backward  and  deftly  cleared  the  space,  and 
the  next  and  the  next  she  flung  aside,  opening  a  path  as 
heedlessly  as  if  the  men  were  only  bushes  crowding  a 
narrow  way. 

Behind  her  at  first,  and  then  beside  her,  was  Isabel 
Darrow,  and  the  two  fought  valiantly  together. 

It  were  a  daring  artist  to-day  who  would  paint  that 
scene  and  call  it  historical  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
So  like  to  the  barbarism  of  the  fierce  old  Vandal  and 
the  terrible  Hun  was  the  sight  that  August  morning 
saw  in  the  streets  of  Lawrence.  Entrapped  in  the  burn 
ing  house  was  the  father.  Beside  the  cradle  where  a 
baby  wailed  pitifully  was  an  unconscious  mother.  Inside 
was  death  by  fire;  outside,  death  by  bullets. 

Before  the  blazing  building  was  a  maniac  crew  of 
horsemen  with  their  madly  rearing  steeds,  their  mur 
derous  weapons,  their  vengeful  threats  and  curses.  And 
in  their  midst,  carving  out  a  way  with  only  a  woman's 


442  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

slender  strength,  was  the  golden-haired  Scotch  lassie 
and  the  sweet-faced  Quaker  woman. 

In  and  out  through  the  plunging  pile  of  fury,  th« 
daring  courage  of  Elizabeth  Lamond  put  a  magnificent 
touch  of  power;  while  the  Madonna  face  of  Isabel  Dar- 
row,  with  the  dark  rippling  folds  of  hair  about  her  white 
brow,  gave  to  the  picture  an  immortal  sublimity. 

Onward  they  struggled,  until  one  horseman  only 
blocked  their  way  —  a  great  black  steed  reared  upward 
with  forefeet  in  air,  as  if  to  trample  them  into  the  dust 
of  the  street.  It  was  David  Lamond's  horse  stolen  from 
the  St.  Felix  stable.  And  the  rider  of  the  horse  knew  no 
longer  any  mercy  for  man  or  woman. 

"  Ho,  Pluto !    Ho,  Pluto ! "  Beth  cried. 

For  ten  minutes  the  rider  of  the  stolen  Pluto  had  been 
training  him  to  strike  down  human  beings;  but  for  ten 
years  he  had  responded  to  Beth's  call.  The  white  horse 
for  peace  lay  buried  in  the  ravine  by  the  Hole  in  the 
Rock;  the  red  roan  for  bloodshed  had  gone  back  to  the 
Delaware  people;  but  the  black  horse  for  power  was 
here.  Dropping  his  head,  he  waited  for  Beth's  gentle 
stroke. 

Looking  defiantly  at  his  rider,  Beth  cried,  "You  can 
steal  my  horse,  but  you  can't  control  him.  Go,  Pluto ! " 

And  Pluto  shot  off  with  a  lunge,  leaving  the  way  to 
the  burning  house  clear  for  the  rescuers'  feet. 

Inside  the  house,  Beth  lifted  the  terrified  little  one  in 
her  arms  and  it  clung  to  her  and  nestled  its  baby  curls 
against  her  white  neck. 

"  Take  my  wife !  take  my  wife ! "  the  father  pleaded. 

Isabel  lifted  the  semi-conscious  woman,  and  with 
Beth's  help  they  half  led  and  half  dragged  her  outside. 
And  mother  and  child  were  saved. 

The  Merriford  home  was  surrounded  now.     Cries  of 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  443 

"  Burn  the  Boston  man's  house !    Burn  out  Merrif ord's ! " 
filled  the  air. 

"Take  everybody  in  there.  Don't  spare  men  nor 
women."  It  was  Skaggs  who  said  this.  The  tattered 
flag  of  American  Liberty  was  still  dragging  at  his  horse's 
tail.  "I  dare  you  to  come  out,  you  cowards.  I  dare 
one  of  you  to  show  your  heads,"  he  yelled. 

"  I  don't  take  no  dare,"  Patty  Wren  cried,  as  she  flew 
to  a  window  and  flung  it  open.  "What  do  you  want? 
Major  Merriford  ain't  here,  nor  no  other  man.  Do  you 
want  to  kill  women,  too?  " 

"We're  goin'  to  burn  this  house.  Get  out  if  you 
want  to  save  yourselves,"  the  leader  shouted,  as  he 
crowded  Skaggs  back. 

Beth  Lamond  had  taken  the  first  news  of  the  invaders' 
purpose  to  the  Merriford  home  an  hour  or  more  ago. 
With  the  assurance  of  safety  for  the  women,  Hiram 
Darrow  had  left  at  once  to  warn  men  to  seek  safety. 
In  all  Lawrence,  storm-beaten  by  violence,  no  other  man 
was  more  fearless  nor  more  self-possessed  than  Hiram 
Darrow.  Not  for  nothing  is  the  Inward  Light.  Not  in 
vain  the  teaching  that  leads  men  to  listen  to  their  own 
souls  in  the  Silence.  In  the  day  of  danger  this  man, 
guiltless  of  a  brother's  blood,  faced  the  peril  of  the  hour 
with  nerves  of  steel  and  spirit  of  command. 

In  and  out,  with  marvelous  judgment  of  how  much 
to  risk  and  how  much  to  guard,  he  passed  the  word  that 
brought  safety  to  many  a  life.  It  seemed  a  miracle  that 
no  bullet  reached  him  on  the  way,  for  he  went  as  if  on 
urgent  but  safe  business. 

In  this  hour  he  had  seen  the  full  force  of  the  city's 
menace.  Men  feigning  death  to  escape  a  second  bullet. 
Men  shot  down  with  babies'  arms  about  their  necks. 
Women  dragged  from  shielding  prostrate  wounded 


444  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

fathers  and  husbands,  that  the  guerrillas  might  kill  and 
kill.  Men  promised  protection  on  surrender,  only  to  fall 
the  moment  they  could  be  lined  up  in  the  open.  All  this 
Darrow  had  seen,  and  with  the  lust  for  loot,  and  the 
maddening  force  the  whisky  from  the  saloons  had 
given,  he  doubted  if  any  promise  to  protect  women 
would  long  endure;  so  he  hurried  toward  Merriford's 
as  swiftly  as  he  dared. 

As  Skaggs  was  thrust  aside  by  the  leader,  his  horse 
wheeled  about  just  in  time  for  its  rider  to  catch  sight 
of  the  Quaker  springing  inside  through  a  rear  door. 

The  roar  that  arose  was  deafening,  with  cries  for 
"  Darrow  "  and  shouts  and  raging. 

Darrow  pushed  his  way  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

"Come  and  get  me  if  you  want  me,"  he  called  to 
the  mob. 

A  growl  of  curses  and  the  cries,  "Go  and  get  him! 
Take  him  out!" 

But  nobody  followed  his  own  advice. 

"  We  '11  get  you  yet.    We  '11  kill  you ! "  they  yelled. 

"  Come  and  do  it,"  rang  out  the  Quaker's  challenge. 

But  they  failed  to  come.  With  direst  threats,  the 
horsemen  rode  away,  and  those  on  foot  bided  their 
time. 

Beth  and  Isabel  at  last  gained  the  house  with  their 
precious  charges.  The  flames  were  devouring  the  home 
behind  them  which  the  guerrillas  still  held  under  guard. 
Inside  a  man's  life  was  put  to  the  choice. 

"Can  thee  help  him,  Hiram?"  Isabel  asked,  as  she 
entered  the  place  of  safety. 

He  ran  into  the  street,  and  a  posse  of  men  on  foot 
hurled  itself  after  him.  Their  leader  was  Bill,  the 
Coward. 

"  We  've  got  him  now,"  they  shouted. 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  445 

A  thrill  of  joy  put  strength  into  Hiram  Darrow's  arm. 
For  as  they  gathered  about  him,  the  imprisoned  man 
leaped  at  last  from  the  burning  building  and  fled  away 
to  safety.  The  whizzing  of  bullets  failed  to  reach  him 
as  he  ran;  and  in  frenzy  the  mob  rushed  upon  the 
Quaker. 

D  arrow  was  a  man  of  kindliest  spirit,  who  never  car 
ried  a  weapon  in  his  life.  He  was  tall,  but  slender  rather 
than  heavy,  and  of  deliberate  motion.  Fighting  in  any 
manner  was  degrading  in  his  eyes,  and  bloodshed  abhor 
rent  to  him.  By  inheritance,  and  natural  temperament, 
and  fifty  years  of  education  and  habit,  he  was  a  man 
of  gentleness  and  peace.  To-day  he  had  been  thrust 
into  the  wildest  carnage.  He  had  witnessed  the  break 
ing  of  every  sacred  law.  His  own  sons  were  somewhere 
in  the  midst  of  this  devil's  debauch,  living  or  dead,  God 
knew.  And  now  as  he  sought  to  save  life,  a  dozen  men 
encircled  him  like  hungry  wolves.  Above  inheritance,  and 
temperament,  and  teaching,  and  habit,  the  Man  in  him 
asserted  itself,  and  he  stood  up  to  the  conflict.  Before  him 
was  Bill  the  Coward,  who  knew  his  temper  and  habits,  and 
Bill  was  one  of  a  dozen  ruffians.  Never  did  a  dozen  fighting 
men  receive  a  greater  shock.  With  a  swift,  easy  play  of 
muscle  and  marvelous  endurance  and  recoil,  the  Quaker 
met  his  task.  As  quickly  as  they  came,  he  sent  them  on. 
Two  men  fell  into  the  flames  and  three  were  needed  to 
drag  them  out.  Another  and  another  fell  backward,  for 
the  Quaker  could  use  either  fist  dextrously  and  inde 
pendently  of  the  other.  A  deft  whirl,  and  another  man 
sprawled  toward  the  glowing  furnace.  Bill,  the  Coward, 
ran  away,  of  course.  There  was  no  chance  to  use  his 
gun  with  safety  to  his  fellows,  and  he  could  fight  only 
helpless  people.  While  the  men  were  rescuing  the  third 
guerrilla  from  the  flames,  the  last  man  fired  his  revolver 


446  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

with  a  yell,  and  the  brave,  stubborn  Quaker,  who  had 
matched  himself  against  the  dozen,  fell. 

In  the  presence  of  danger,  the  courage  of  women  is 
sublime.  If  ever  "troops  of  beautiful,  tall  angels" 
stood  round  about  the  brave  in  heart,  they  shielded 
Isabel  Darrow,  the  sweet-browed  Quaker  woman,  in  this 
awful  time.  The  streets  were  clogged  with  the  wounded 
and  dead,  and  the  flames  were  searing  all  alike.  Into 
all  this  chaos  she  sprang.  The  guerrilla's  arm  was 
stretched  for  a  second  time  —  he  could  not  believe  one 
bullet  strong  enough  for  such  a  fighter  —  when  Isabel 
caught  his  shoulder  and  wrenched  aside  the  deadly 
weapon.  It  was  the  same  grip  that  had  thrown  the  same 
man  headlong  into  the  cedars  on  the  night  when  this 
man  had  come  to  the  sheltered  cabin  on  the  hilltop  above 
the  Vinland  Valley, —  a  quick,  steel-like,  unbreakable 
clutch.  Strange  is  the  grasp  of  memory.  The  sharp, 
blinding,  nagging  cedar  needles  seemed  to  tear  his  face 
again  in  the  moment,  as  he  was  flung  aside  and  Isabel 
Darrow,  beautiful  and  strong  in  her  utter  fearless 
ness,  threw  herself  shield-like,  between  her  husband  and 
death. 

Lifting  the  almost  lifeless  form  of  Hiram  Darrow, 
she  bore  him  toward  the  house.  And  as  she  struggled 
with  her  burden,  one  man  whom  Darrow  had  felled  to 
the  ground  came  now  and  helped  to  bear  him  into  the 
security  of  the  Merriford  home. 

Then  the  raiders  rushed  away  to  find  the  terror- 
stricken  ones,  to  shoot  down  defenceless  men  and  beard 
less  boys,  to  rob  and  to  destroy. 

Fiercer  yet  rolled  the  blood-red  wave  of  murder,  along 
the  ways  of  doom,  and  higher  leaped  the  flames  of 
burning  destruction,  and  wilder  did  the  looting  pack  — 
mad  now  with  stolen  whisky  —  break  forth  for  plunder. 


"TIGER!    TIGER!"  447 

If  History  as  written  on  our  fair  Continent  needs  ever 
furnish  to  an  artist's  brush  its  most  atrocious  dream  of 
cruelty,  its  most  inhuman  carnage  of  a  savage  lust  for 
gore  —  its  truest  prototype  of  Hell  —  let  it  turn  to  the 
story  of  that  August  day  and  picture  Lawrence  as  she 
lay  before  the  dew  had  left  the  sheltered  grasses.  In  the 
stories  of  peril  and  power  there  is  no  fellow  to  it. 

And  all  the  while,  about  the  city  of  death,  Quantrill, 
the  chieftain  of  the  accursed  horde,  passed  from  spot  to 
spot,  directing  all,  increasing  all,  gloating  in  all  the 
worse  than  beastly  business.  In  all  the  dress  of  the 
guerrilla,  and  with  exultation  of  a  demon  on  his  face, 
he  came  to  the  top  of  Mount  Oread.  Looking  out  over 
the  valley  whose  exquisite  beauty  challenges  the  West 
for  a  companion  to  it,  and  down  upon  the  roaring  hell 
of  agony  and  demolition  his  hands  were  controlling,  his 
heavy  eyelids  drooping  over  his  yellow-green  eyes,  he 
made  a  picture  the  like  of  which  Mount  Oread  will  see 
not  any  more. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  lookout  placed  above  the  city 
sent  down  the  word  that  horsemen  were  approaching 
from  the  southeast,  and  the  gang  began  to  gather  for 
hasty  flight.  They  had  fresh  horses,  stolen  from  the 
Lawrence  stables,  and  their  loot  was  hung  upon  their 
own  more  jaded  mounts. 

Where  the  city  park  makes  a  beauty  spot  on  Massa 
chusetts  Avenue  to-day,  they  gathered  and  began  their 
exodus.  A  low  hedge  fence  ran  near.  And  along  this 
came  Skaggs,  the  merciless  slayer  of  helpless  boys,  the 
last  tatters  of  the  Nation's  emblem  fluttering  from  his 
horse's  tail.  Exulting  in  his  blood  gluttony,  he  rode  to 
escape  from  a  city  he  had  so  inhumanly  wronged. 

Down  by  the  hedge,  a  boy  crouched  —  the  youngest 
of  the  Speers,  who  had  played  also  with  other  children 


448  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

at  the  peace-party  long  ago.  In  his  hands  he  clutched 
a  loaded  rifle  —  and  his  brothers  were  lost.  He  aimed 
at  Skaggs;  the  ball  struck  the  villain's  shoulder-blade, 
but  he  was  only  wounded.  Another  minute  and  another 
boy  would  have  been  added  to  his  record.  But  it  was 
time  for  his  record  to  be  closed  and  handed  in.  Behind 
Skaggs  loomed  up  White  Turkey,  the  Delaware,  grand 
defender  of  women  and  children. 

"  Him  kill  everybody.    Me  kill  him ! " 

And  when  White  Turkey  shot,  he  shot  to  kill. 

And  so  it  was  that  on  this  August  day,  the  supreme 
sacrifice  for  loyalty  to  a  belief  in  human  liberty  had  been 
required  of  a  freedom-loving  State  in  its  defenceless 
hour.  The  sacrificial  altar  was  the  indomitable  city  by 
the  Kaw. 

The  beastly  crew  rushed  off  as  they  had  come;  and 
slaughter  and  burning  made  the  milestones  of  their  way, 
as  with  a  running  battle  they  fought  off  all  pursuers  and 
gained  again  the  wooded  coverts  of  a  friendly  State. 
And  Lawrence  roused  up  amid  her  ruins  and  put  out 
her  fires.  The  fierce  August  sun  beat  down  on  wounded 
and  dying.  Pillage  had  taken  sacred  keepsake  and  valu 
able  treasure.  Fire  had  laid  waste  home  and  office  and 
store.  And  of  the  uncoffined  dead  for  that  brief  space 
of  guerrilla  seizure,  Lawrence  mourned  for  a  hundred 
fifty  men  and  boys,  while  of  widows  there  were  eighty, 
and  of  children  two  hundred  fifty  left  to  dreary  homes. 
Dead  forms  lay  in  the  desolate  places,  and  the  mourners 
went  about  the  streets. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 
THE    MIRACLE    OF    SONG 

And  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  Free  and  the  home  of  the  Brave. 

THE  late  May  sunshine  poured  down  with  oppressive 
heat.  The  air  was  heavy  with  humidity.  In  the 
rolling,  half-wooded  country  the  sea  breeze  was  beaten 
back  and  diffused.  For  a  month  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac,  with  its  stern  old  Thor,  General  Grant,  at  the 
head,  had  been  hammering  along  the  Virginia  country 
side,  buffeting  its  way  toward  Richmond.  Between  it 
and  the  Confederate  Capital  were  the  strongly  forti 
fied  forces  gathered  behind  their  intrenchments  at  Cold 
Harbor. 

For  three  summers  the  Vinland  Valley  boys  had  been 
in  the  field.  The  operations  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
under  General  Grant  did  not  tend  to  fatten  men,  and 
Elliot  and  Craig  were  lean  and  wiry,  but  field-hardened 
to  great  endurance.  Craig  had  had  one  short  furlough 
and  had  come  back  from  the  Vinland  Valley  as  from  a 
field  of  conquest.  The  boys  marched  side  by  side,  and 
a  comradeship  of  necessity  sprang  up  between  them. 
But  the  barrier  first  erected  on  the  night  after  the  Octo 
ber  nutting,  so  long  ago,  had  strengthened  with  the 
years.  Elliot  had  not  had  leave  of  absence  from  the 
army,  and  his  joy  through  the  months  was  in  the  few 
letters  from  his  mother  and  from  Beth. 

449 


450  AWALLOFMEN 

In  the  same  company  with  the  Kansas  boys  were  sev 
eral  Missouri  men  —  rough,  unshaven,  middle-aged  fel 
lows,  who  came  East  because  they  wanted  to  fight,  and 
they  did  not  care  to  take  chances  with  Western  guer 
rillas  where  they  were  well  known.  Three  of  these  men 
interested  Elliot  Darrow.  From  their  enlistment  they 
took  kindly  to  the  young  Quaker,  and,  crude  as  they 
were,  they  had  a  spirit  of  comradeship  that  touched  him 
deeply. 

War  brought  David  Lamond  into  his  kingdom.  He 
was  courageous,  capable,  and  kindly,  and  his  men  adored 
him.  He  was  Colonel  Lamond  now,  wearing  his  badge 
by  sheer  merit  of  service;  while  his  sturdy  physique 
and  stern  Scotch  nature,  his  unwavering  loyalty  and  God 
fearing  spirit,  all  fitted  him  for  leadership  in  a  noble 
warfare. 

The  afternoon  was  growing  into  evening.  The  Army 
of  the  Potomac  was  encamped  in  the  ravines  and  back 
on  the  level  spaces  beyond  the  Chickahominy.  To 
morrow  the  assault  on  Cold  Harbor  was  ordered, —  the 
only  order  in  all  that  tremendous  military  campaign  that 
General  Grant  ever  regretted, —  and  this  was  the  eve  of 
battle. 

Elliot  Darrow  was  bathing  his  face  and  hands  at  a 
little  brook  that  went  gurgling  down  to  the  Chicka 
hominy.  He  was  homesick,  as  most  home-loving  men 
are,  on  the  eve  of  a  great  fight,  and  war  is  never  gentle 
in  any  feature. 

"Well,  I  want  to  know " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  Yankee  drawl.  When 
Elliot  lifted  his  face  and  shook  the  water  from  his  drip 
ping  dark  waves  of  hair,  Coke  Wren  was  really  before 
him. 

"  Anything  from  Kansas  would  look  good  to  me.     How 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    SONG         451 

do  you  do?"  And  he  shook  Coke's  hand  as  if  he  could 
never  let  it  go. 

"Yes,  even  me,"  Coke  said.  "Ninety-six  and  three- 
quarter  pound  still;  that's  how  I  do.  Ef  I'd  only  git 
that  other  quarter  pound,  they'd  take  me  into  the  serv 
ice.  Been  tryin'  ever  sence  the  Army  broke  out  in  '61. 
Any  kind  of  place  would  suit  me,  but  I'm  no  grand- 
daddy  long-legs,  an'  can't  make  the  infantry  step,  an'  I  'm 
so  light  a  cavalry  horse  'd  think  it  had  n't  no  mount  on 
it,  and  'd  run  amuck." 

"Maybe  they'd  let  you  take  Cotton  Mather,"  Elliot 
suggested. 

"  Little  guerrilla 's  throwed  me  too  darned  many  times 
already.  Don't  want  to  be  dumped  right  in  front  of  the 
enemy's  guns,"  Coke  declared.  And  then  they  talked  of 
many  things. 

"  I  'm  here  to  see  Major  Merriford.  Got  a  permit  from 
them  Powers.  Colonel  Lamond,  he  let  me  in  here. 
Where's  the  Massachusetts  men  campin'?"  Coke  asked. 

"Over  beyond  the  next  ravine.  Lots  of  Boston  men 
there,"  Elliot  replied. 

"Yes,  I'm  gittin'  back  East  when  I  hear  them  talk. 
I've  got  business  matters  an*  messages  for  Winthrop, 
the  Major.  Jupe's  his  body  servant  now,  hain't  he?" 

Elliot  nodded. 

"  Gosh  be !  but  I  'm  plum  proud  of  our  Western  men 
—  stood  up  fer  Kansas  singly  first  when  she  was  beset 
by  her  enemies.  Jest  hung  on  'tel  they  settled  the 
Kansas  business ;  but  it  was  such  a  darned  big  business, 
the  whole  country  got  more  or  less  into  the  mix,  all 
'cause  a  line  of  Kansas  men  wouldn't  never  give  down 
ner  know  rightly  when  they  was  licked.  Dead  men  out 
West  seems  to  me  just  gits  up  an'  goes  on  fightin'  same 
as  if  nothin'  had  happened." 


452  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"John  Brown,  and  his  followers  for  example?"  Elliot 
suggested.  "But  how  about  the  coward  Quakers  who 
stay  at  home?" 

"Now,  you  rooster,  shut  up  your  crowin',"  Wren 
exclaimed.  "In  the  Quantrill  raid,  when  I  was  just 
pinkin'  round  helpin'  a  little  an'  dodgin*  things  by  playin* 
I  was  Aunt  Tildy  to  the  whole  town,  Hiram  Darrow  for 
got  he  was  a  Quaker  or  anything  else  but  a  man.  When 
it  come  to  savin'  another  man's  life,  didn't  he  stand  up 
in  the  street  and  face  a  dozen  armed  ruffians,  an'  him 
with  no  weapons  at  all?  Yes,  an*  fight  'em  all,  too,  'cept 
one  coward  who  couldn't  get  in  his  gun-play;  an*  one 
coward  who  wouldn't  meet  him  square  after  he'd  fit 
off  ten  of  'em,  but  went  an'  shot  him  in  the  back.  Awful 
close  call  for  your  father,  but  he's  well  now.  He's  too 
good  a  man  for  the  West  to  lose  'tel  he 's  ninety  at  least. 
And  as  to  war  now,  Hiram  Darrow  knows  it's  wrong 
for  Hiram  Darrow  to  shed  blood,  same  time  he 's  givin* 
hisself  heart  an'  soul  to  the  makin'  of  his  State  educa 
tionally,  you  may  say.  And  I  dunno  but  that's  the  real 
makin's,  after  all.  We  need  soldiers  on  occasions  like 
to-morrow,  for  instance,  but  God  knows  we  need  states 
men  all  the  time.  Yes,  an*  stateswomen,  too,  like  your 
blessed  mother." 

The  young  man's  eyes  deepened  with  a  glow  that 
mothers  love. 

"For  lemme  tell  you,  Elliot  Darrow — me  what  ain't 
no  soldier  an'  sailor,  too  —  lemme  say,  even  in  war,  it's 
human  bein's  that  counts,  an'  not  earthworks.  One  man 
with  a  mind  'fore  Lee's  old  breastworks  there  at  Cold 
Harbor  is  stronger 'n  all  their  rock  and  mud  fortressin' 
an'  intrenchmentin'." 

"So  he  be  not  a  coward,  Coke?" 

"Yes,  yes,  so's  he  hain't  no  coward,"  Wren  agreed. 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    SONG         453 

"Say,"  he  continued,  absently,  "Rosalind  St.  Felix  is 
gone  to  be  a  army  nurse  down  South  in  a  hospital.  Nice 
little  girl,  an'  a  borned  nurse,  too.  By  the  way,  I  'most 
forgot  a  message  I  had  for  you.  Sorter  sad  message, 
maybe,  but  you  're  used  to  sad  things." 

Elliot  waited. 

"Beth  Lamond,  she  said  tell  you  the  locket  couldn't 
never  go  back  on  the  chain  no  more,  'cause  the  chain's 
gone.  Said  you'd  understand.  Said  she's  wanted  to 
tell  you  for  'most  a  year,  ever  sence  last  summer  some 
time,  but  had  n't  no  heart  to  do  it.  Said  she  'd  write  an' 
explain,  an'  she  knowed  it  would  be  all  right  some  time." 

Coke  deliberated  in  his  delivery,  for  he  knew  he  was 
hurting  something,  and  his  was  the  healing,  not  the 
hurting,  gift." 

"  Say,  who  d'  you  suppose  I  see  back  by  a  stone  fence 
as  I  came  down,  clear  'way  back  to  where  the  Rebs  is 
intrenched?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Elliot  answered,  vacantly,  as  if  he  had 
not  heard  the  question. 

The  waters  of  the  little  brook  gurgled  on  their  way  to 
the  Chickahominy  Creek,  and  the  Chickahominy  slipped 
down  to  the  James  River,  and  the  James  at  low  tide  ran 
into  the  sea.  And  brook,  and  creek,  and  river,  and  sea, 
and  sky,  and  air,  and  land,  and  life  seemed  all  one  thing 
to  Elliot  Darrow,  and  that  one  thing  a  blank. 

"  You  'd  never  guess,  so  I  '11  tell  you.  It  was  his  Excel 
lency,  B.  Penwin,  erstwhile  stealer  of  Delaware  Injuns' 
horses,  an'  crimes  an'  deeds  unforgivable,  what  he  ain't 
caught  up  for  yit.  And  speakin*  of  Injuns,  Pelathe  got 
run  down  last  winter.  Put  up  a  stiff  fight  to  the  last. 
Never  was  a  braver  scout  ner  truer  man,  but  the  tricky 
Rebel  Cherokees  killed  him." 

Still  Elliot  was  silent. 


454  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

"I  want  to  know  who's  them  men  marching  yonder; 
lock-steppin'  it  off  fer  fun?  They  hain't  Unions,  be 
they?" 

The  young  man  looked  in  the  direction  Wren  was 
pointing. 

"  Oh,  they  are  three  of  our  Missourians  —  not  much 
to  look  at,  but  true  blue.  Some  of  the  noblest  men  I 
know  come  out  of  that  State.  You  can't  measure  men 
by  their  beauty,  Coke  Wren.  Nor  women,  either,"  he 
added,  bitterly. 

If  the  little  Yankee  understood,  he  gave  no  sign. 

"You  don't  know  them,  Elliot?  They  are  the  three 
cusses  that  helt  up  Beth  Lamond  and  my  chicken  in  the 
ravine  beyont  the  Wakarusa  in  '55.  I  got  their  record 
all  to  a  finish  when  I  was  waitin'  fer  things  in,  an'  out 
side  of,  Lecompton  jail.  You  remember,  Craig  saved  the 
women." 

"Oh,  yes!"  Elliot  remembered  that. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  more.  Them  three  high-born 
patriots  is  the  same  you  took  in  out  of  the  cold  that 
same  night  afterwards.  You  was  singin*  to  Joe  that 
night,  he  was  down  with  pneumony,  an*  they'd  come 
to  kill  you.  The  power  of  your  voice  turned  their  mur- 
derin*  bullets  away.  Remember  that  Palmyry  preacher 
said  you  'd  win  a  battle  with  that  voice  of  your  'n.  What 
was  you  singin',  anyhow?  " 

Elliot  was  sitting  with  his  arms  clasped  round  his 
knees,  looking  at  the  little  brook.  Now  he  turned  to 
Coke  Wren  and  the  same  smile  that  had  always  won  him 
friends  lighted  his  face. 

"  I  remember  it  all  now.  They  did  act  queer.  I  thought 
they  were  drunk.  And  so  they  had  come  to  kill,  had 
they?" 

Then  he  leaned  forward  and,  pushing  the  dark  curls 


THE     MIRACLE    OF    SONG         455 

from  his  brow,  he  sang  softly  but  sweetly,  with  the  same 
bird-like  clearness  as  of  old: 

There's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy 

Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea, 
There's  a  kindness  in  His  justice, 
There  is  more  than  liberty. 

"I  wish  I  could  win  that  easily  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
and,  springing  up,  he  strode  away  toward  the  camp.  For 
the  song  had  brought  a  momentary  balm  of  peace  to  his 
smitten  spirit. 

The  night  was  very  dark.  Beyond  the  Confederate 
sentinel  line,  a  man  in  official  Rebel  uniform  and  a 
rough-looking  soldier  in  Union  blue  were  holding  coun 
cil  in  the  shelter  of  an  earth  entrenchment.  The  officer 
was  fair  of  face  and  finely  built,  and  at  first  glance  did 
not  differ  from  other  finely  built,  fair-faced  men  who 
commanded  magnificent  armies  of  able  men  of  the  South. 
But  the  daylight  would  have  shown  a  Judas  face,  where 
treachery  and  evil  had  left  their  cunning  imprint  to  be 
read  by  him  who  has  learned  the  art  of  reading  Judas 
faces. 

"You  will  be  safe  enough,  Bill,"  he  of  the  uniform 
explained.  "  I  Ve  fixed  our  sentinel  here.  Come  to  this 
beat  when  you  get  back.  Watch  your  chance  for 
the  Union  sentinel.  Your  clothes  will  carry  you  far. 
Now  go." 

"Tell  me,  Colonel,"  Bill  said,  sullenly.  "I've  did  an* 
did  for  you.  I  Ve  a  notion, —  every  feller  has  some  time, 
you  know, —  that  this  is  my  last  job  for  you  or  anybody. 
Why  d'ye  spend  money  like  water  an'  take  such  risks, 
or  make  me  take  'em,  for  such  trifles?  You  paid  me  big 
to  get  this  here  little  gold  chain  out  o'  Lawrence  to 
you.  Now,  you  offer  me  'most  any  price  to  git  it  over 
there." 


456  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

The  officer  looked  at  his  servant. 

"I  hope  not  your  last  job,"  he  said,  kindly.  "I  have 
several  more  for  you  myself  yet.  But  you've  been  true 
to  me,  Bill.  There's  just  one  thing  I  want  to  do.  My 
daughter  will  marry  a  Quaker.  She  is  of  the  soft,  pliant 
kind  that  will  smile  and  smile  and  in  the  end  have  her 
own  way.  My  baby  boy,  Tarleton,  your  accursed  gang 
took  in  that  boys'  camp  at  Lawrence.  How  could  I 
know  he'd  be  there?  I  couldn't  go  back  to  him." 

Maybe  the  face  of  Neil  Merriford,  as  he  had  looked 
at  the  Hole  in  the  Rock,  came  back  a  moment  to  this 
man  in  authority.  If  it  did,  God's  vengeance  must  have 
been  heavy. 

"Bill,  I've  just  one  act  I  must  carry  through.  I've 
pledged  myself  to  see  my  son,  all  I  have  —  and  I  have  n't 
him,  'tis  true  —  to  see  him  happy  with  a  girl  he  loves. 
In  this  way  only  can  I  atone  for  my  sister's  broken  heart, 
for  —  a  love  interrupted.  I'll  pay  you  anything  to  help 
me  through.  I'll  give  anything  for  one  atonement.  If 
I  can  make  my  boy  happy,  won't  that  pay  back  at  least  a 
part  of  things  I  took  away  —  things  Lucy  lost?" 

The  wages  of  sin!  What  a  sum  they  exact  from  him 
who  breaks  the  law!  And  Bill,  fearful  for  himself,  and 
despising  the  man  no  bigger  than  himself,  went  on  his 
errand,  cast  down  with  the  presentiment  that  it  was  to 
be  his  last  job. 

The  night  was  still  dark.  The  Union  sentinel  had 
just  turned  on  his  beat,  when  a  step,  so  soft  and  near 
it  could  not  be  distinguished  from  his  own  footfall,  took 
his  warm  track.  Another  stride  of  the  sentinel,  and  a 
second  footfall  brought  the  invader  in  Union  blue  one 
step  inside  the  lines.  Three,  four,  five  strides  of  the 
sentinel.  Then  the  man  inside  leaped  like  a  panther 
toward  the  sleeping  soldiers.  The  sentinel  halted  and 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    SONG         457 

listened,  but  the  sounds  were  only  like  the  light  feet  of 
a  dog,  and  he  turned  and  paced  his  beat  like  a  good 
soldier. 

Elliot  Darrow  did  not  sleep  well  that  night.  How 
could  he?  The  night  was  hot  and  moist  and  oppressive, 
and  Elliot's  head  was  hot  and  his  pulse-beat  oppressive, 
and  drops  of  moisture  settled  on  his  brow.  Soldier  life 
had  given  even  clearer  vision  to  his  wonderful  eyes,  and 
he  saw  as  well  in  the  dark  as  many  a  man  could  see  in 
the  cloudy  daylight.  He  held  himself  from  restlessness, 
but  he  gazed  up  at  the  stars  in  the  heavens  of  midnight 
blue,  and  upon  the  sleeping  comrades  about  him.  How 
many  of  them  all  would  the  morrow  require  in  the  build 
ing  of  a  Nation's  strong,  imperishable  wall?  If  it  should 
be  his  turn  now,  somehow  it  didn't  seem  to  matter 
so  much  as  it  would  have  mattered  twenty-four  hours 
before.  Be  it  his  to  go  bravely,  anyhow.  And  then  he 
upbraided  himself  for  his  doubts. 

"After  all,  Beth's  message  can  be  explained,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "She  never  doubted  me  in  the  days  when 
tongues  were  busy  concerning  my  actions.  I  can  wait 
for  her  letter.  Since  Craig's  furlough  he  has  tried  by  a 
hundred  tricks  to  make  me  think  that  Beth  has  changed 
her  mind.  I  won't  believe  it." 

As  he  lay  motionless,  thinking  at  last  only  of  the 
great  void  in  his  life  the  loss  of  Beth  would  create,  he 
was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  presence  near.  He  had 
been  awake  so  long  and  his  sight  was  so  keen,  he  saw 
easily  what  went  on  about  him.  Craig  lay  near  him, 
sleeping  soundly.  But  the  sense  of  a  waking  presence 
quickened.  Then  a  figure  slipped  by  him,  a  soldier  in 
blue  clothes,  who  bent  above  Craig.  The  light  fell 
through  the  branches  directly  on  Craig's  face.  And  as 
the  soldier  stooped  to  waken  him,  Elliot  caught  sight  of 


458  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

the  man's  countenance.  It  was  the  face  of  Bill  the 
Coward,  who  had  run  from  Nethercote's  burning  stable 
the  day  he  had  rescued  Mrs.  Nethercote,  and  from  him 
self  and  Mark  and  White  Turkey,  before  the  Darrow 
cabin,  when  the  raiders  had  come  to  "kill  the  biggest 
one." 

"  Come  out  here.  I  've  got  a  message  from  a  Rebel 
officer,  and  I  want  to  take  one  to  his  headquarters  from 
your  camp.  I've  fooled  the  sentinel  and  come  through 
the  lines.  Come  quick,"  the  soldier  whispered. 

Craig  rose  lightly  as  a  cat,  and  the  two  slipped  away. 

Elliot  rose  also  to  follow  or  give  the  alarm.  Then  he 
lay  down  again  and  watched.  In  a  few  moments  the 
man  slid  off  into  the  darkness,  and  Craig  again  lay  down 
beside  his  wakeful  comrade. 

"  I  '11  not  chase  that  Rebel  spy,"  Elliot  thought.  "  Let 
'Bill'  go.  A  bullet  can  find  a  coward  in  one  place  just 
as  easily  as  another.  And  for  this  man,"  he  looked  at 
Craig,  "I'll  not  report  him  to  Colonel  Lamond.  I'm 
not  that  kind  of  a  coward." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  sentinel's  cry  of  "  Halt ! "  reached 
Elliot's  ears,  a  sound  of  hurrying  feet  that  did  not  halt, 
and  the  quick  report  of  a  rifle.  Then  all  was  still,  for 
Bill  had  finished  his  last  job. 

Presently,  two  Missouri  men  rose  from  their  places 
and  slid  into  the  shadows  in  the  direction  of  the  rifle 
shot.  It  was  long  before  they  returned.  In  the  next 
day's  charge,  Elliot  did  not  note  the  new-made  grave 
over  which  he  stumbled  —  the  nameless  mound  that  cov 
ered  all  that  was  earthly  of  the  Coward,  Bill. 

Before  the  morning  reveille,  Elliot,  wakeful  still, 
noticed  a  soiled  tissue-paper  package  lying  on  Craig's 
breast,  as  if  it  had  slipped  from  his  pocket  as  he  slept. 
Peeping  from  the  torn  wrappings  were  the  links  of  the 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    SONG         459 

quaintly  wrought  gold  chain  he  had  given  in  pledge  to 
Beth.  He  could  have  taken  it  easily  without  Craig's 
knowing  it,  but  it  had  no  value  to  him  now.  The  force 
of  the  message  Coke  Wren  had  brought  came  down  like 
a  blow  upon  him,  and  the  sorrow  of  that  hour  was  a 
thing  he  never  forgot. 

"I'll  not  disgrace  myself,  nor  do  anything  to  grieve 
her,"  he  thought  at  last.  "If  she  has  changed,  she  has 
changed.  The  Scotch  lass's  endurance  was  not  like  the 
Quaker's  patience.  But  what  do  I  get,  except  revenge, 
if  I  try  to  steal  from  him  what  I  have  already  given 
away?" 

Elliot  rose,  and  as  he  hurried  away  he  met  his  Colonel, 
David  Lamond. 

"Will  he  always  think  he  has  rescued  his  daughter 
from  a  coward?  It  makes  little  difference  now.  But 
duty  does  not  fail.  A  man  must  do  a  man's  part  in  the 
battle  of  life,"  Elliot  said,  as  he  buckled  on  his  armor 
for  the  struggle  of  the  new  day.  But  the  look  of  insolent 
triumph  which  Craig's  face  had  worn  since  his  furlough 
the  summer  before  seemed  almost  unbearable  now. 

It  was  the  memorable  first  day  of  June,  1864.  The 
Rebel  Army,  under  General  Lee,  was  entrenched  with 
tremendous  strength  behind  its  fortifications  at  Cold 
Harbor,  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  drawn  up  in 
battle  line  before  it.  Grant  had  hammered  his  path 
through  merciless  slaughter  and  appalling  disaster  past 
the  Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania ;  and  now  that  stern 
warrior,  who  counted  ends,  not  means,  had  given  the 
word  to  move  on  Cold  Harbor. 

In  all  Grant's  command,  no  man  more  nearly  reflected 
his  spirit  and  military  concepts  than  the  stern  Scotch 
man,  Colonel  David  Lamond,  of  Kansas.  This  morning 
Lamond  rode  near  to  Elliot  Darrow.  The  young  color- 


460  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

bearer  had  never  faltered  in  his  duty.  To-day  Lamond 
knew  would  be  a  terrible  one.  Would  the  boy  from  the 
Vinland  Valley  meet  the  fire  of  a  conflict  fiercer  than 
any  he  had  yet  known?  The  Colonel  did  not  believe  he 
could  do  it. 

An  orderly  touched  Elliot's  shoulder. 

"  The  Colonel  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

Elliot  came  forward  and  saluted  Beth's  father. 

"Darrow,"  Lamond  said,  "to-day  will  be  a  hot  one. 
It's  the  business  of  the  color-bearer  to  keep  the  flag 
afloat." 

"  Yes,  sir."  Another  salute  from  the  color-bearer.  But 
each  man  knew  the  other's  thoughts. 

"I'll  keep  the  flag  flying  for  its  own  grand  name  — 
not  mine.  My  country  is  my  sweetheart  now,"  Elliot 
thought,  as  he  remembered  the  silk  handkerchief  of 
Lamond  plaid  that  he  had  carried  for  three  years, 
wrapped  around  a  sweet  girl-face  painted  in  a  locket. 

The  charge  began.  A  hurricane  of  forces  hurling  itself 
against  impregnable  Rebel  walls.  A  surge  of  Death 
sweeping  back  over  the  breastworks,  blotting  out  men 
as  a  reaper  cuts  down  standing  grain.  In  the  books  of 
American  history  the  records  tell  that  no  other  fifteen 
minutes  of  time,  in  all  our  annals  of  bloody  warfare, 
ever  saw  such  a  return  tide  of  slaughter  as  that  which 
poured  out  from  the  Rebel  strongholds  of  Cold  Har 
bor  on  that  June  day,  engulfing  the  Union  battle  line 
before  it. 

In  the  face  of  such  swift  and  stupendous  peril,  what 
could  men  do  but  flee?  The  Union  line  wavered,  filtered 
off  a  little,  a  little  more,  then  broke,  then  shattered  into 
fragments,  and  the  rout  began. 

Over  their  earthworks  came  a  seething  flood  of  Con 
federate  forces,  crashing  in  swirling  torrents  down  upon 


THE     MIRACLE    OF    SONG          461 

the  madly  rushing,  disorganized  lines.  And  the  Rebel 
yell,  the  warwhoop  of  disunion,  rent  the  air  with  its 
shrill  and  vengeful  discord.  Colonel  Lamond  saw  his 
command  weaken,  then  scatter  and  flee,  each  man  for 
himself,  running  whithersoever  he  could  for  safety.  And 
the  brave  man's  grief  and  shame  and  anger  were  un 
bounded.  Before  him,  Craig  Penwin,  tall  and  lithe, 
sprang  with  a  leopard's  swiftness,  followed  by  hundreds, 
to  whom  he  shouted: 

"  Run,  boys,  run  for  your  lives ! " 

Above  the  fleeing  mass,  the  flag  the  Scotchman  loved 
was  swinging  as  the  color-bearer  fled.  Lamond  saw  all 
this,  and  his  soldier-heart  was  broken. 

Louder  roared  the  Rebel  yell,  and  fiercer  came  the 
onslaught,  as  the  defensive  forces  drove  headlong  the 
bands  of  boys  in  blue. 

The  engagement  was  in  a  woodland  of  thin  timber, 
with  scanty  underbrush.  In  a  small  clearing,  the  rout 
swept  by  a  tiny  cabin,  a  rude  log  thing,  till  now  the 
habitation  of  some  poor  negro.  At  its  corner?  the  logs 
projected  unevenly,  making  a  rough  angle.  Elliot  Dar- 
row  came  with  the  tide  into  this  open  space  and  on 
beside  the  cabin.  The  mind  can  act  more  quickly  than 
bullets  can  speed.  In  the  instant,  he  remembered  Mark's 
Darrarat  of  the  pioneer  boyhood  days  in  the  Vinland 
Valley,  and  how  often  the  boys  had  raced  to  see  who 
could  reach  the  top  first.  Quick  as  a  flash,  too,  the  dark, 
thin  face  of  the  Palmyra  preacher  came  up  before  him 
where  there  was  least  need  for  preachers'  faces,  and 
again  he  heard  the  prophecy: 

"You'll  win  a  battle  yet  with  the  power  of  your 
voice." 

It  was  all  an  instantaneous  mental  process.  In  the 
chaos  of  forces,  Colonel  Lamond  looked  upon  the  retreat- 


462  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

ing  soldiers  with  an  agony  no  other  grief  could  give. 
Then  he  saw  the  color-bearer  pause.  Swift  as  a  squirrel, 
Elliot  ran  to  the  little  cabin.  With  hand  and  foot,  he 
clawed  his  way,  like  a  squirrel,  up  the  rough  angle  of 
the  corner  and  stood  upon  the  eaves. 

The  troops  were  rushing  still  in  wild  disorder,  and 
the  Rebel  yell  still  filled  the  air  as  the  oncoming  legions 
of  the  enemy  swarmed  after  them.  Lamond  saw  Dar- 
row  springing  up  the  oblique  slope  to  the  comb  of  the 
clapboard  roof.  Was  the  coward  expecting  to  hide  there 
from  his  foes?  Oh,  God  be  thanked,  no,  no!  He  was 
standing  upright,  with  his 'face  toward  the  enemy.  In 
his  right  hand  the  red,  white  and  blue  of  Old  Glory  was 
gleaming  in  the  June  sunlight.  Knotted  to  the  staff 
below  the  last  stripe  was  the  silken  handkerchief  of  the 
Lamond  plaid,  his  Colonel's  colors.  A  moment  he  stood 
outlined  against  the  wood  and  sky,  a  target  for  all  guns. 
Then,  lifting  high  the  flag  he  bore,  and  swinging  it  out 
in  all  its  graceful  folds  of  beauty,  he  challenged  his 
retreating  comrades.  Above  the  Rebel  yell,  there  came 
a  burst  of  song,  clear,  rich,  powerful, —  the  voice  of  a 
hero  unafraid: 

We'll  rally  round  the  flag,  boys, 

We'll  rally  once  again, 
Shouting  the  battle  cry  of  freedom. 

We  will  rally  from  the  hillsides, 
We'll  gather  from  the  plains, 

Shouting  the  battle  cry  of  freedom. 

At  the  first  notes,  swelling  out  so  proud  and  strong 
above  the  roar  of  battle,  the  fleeing  soldiers  turned. 
Beyond  them  stood  the  daring  Quaker,  his  bosom  to  the 
foe,  his  white  face  illumined  with  power,  his  great  dark 
eyes  glowing  with  loyalty,  the  dark  masses  of  hair 
thrown  back  from  his  brow,  and  aloft  in  his  strong  right 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    SONG          463 

hand  the  flag  of  a  glorious  Union;  while  rolling  out  in 
melody  over  the  thunder  of  conflict,  the  rattle  of  rifle 
shot,  and  the  fierce  yells  of  battle,  came  the  grand  old 
chorus : 

The  Union  forever,  hurrah,  boys,  hurrah, 
Down  with  the  traitors!  Up  with  the  stars! 

While  we  rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  rally  once  again, 
Shouting  the  battle  cry  of  Freedom. 

Then  David  Lamond  saw  the  Miracle  of  Song. 

The  soldiers  were  coming  back,  with  three  Missouri 
men  in  the  lead.  The  forces  were  converging,  the  com 
panies  were  forming.  The  battle  line  of  boys  in  blue, 
with  the  log  cabin  in  the  center,  was  flung  across  the 
track  of  the  charging  Rebels.  Thicker  and  fiercer  came 
the  return  tide,  and  the  Rebels  wavered  now.  The 
charge,  the  roar  of  musketry,  the  closing  in  of  ranks, 
then  the  forward  swing,  and  the  Rebels  were  on  the 
run.  Over  the  fallen  ones  they  fled,  and  on  to  their 
entrenchments,  gathering  momentum  with  their  speed, 
they  did  not  stop  again  till,  safe  behind  their  fortified 
guns,  they  turned  at  bay.  And  the  Union  line  failed 
not,  but  held  firm  until  the  day's  operations  were  ended. 
The  battle  had  been  saved  by  the  power  of  song. 

In  the  midst  of  its  wildest  strife,  where  the  tides  beat 
fiercest,  David  Lamond  found  Elliot  with  the  colors 
flying  above  him. 

"  My  boy,"  the  Colonel  cried,  "  you  are  most  fit,  most 
noble !  I  'm  proud  to  have  lived  to  see  this  day ! " 

"A  color-bearer's  business  is  to  keep  the  flag  afloat," 
the  Quaker  answered,  with  a  soldierly  salute. 

In  military  annals  the  outcome  of  that  day  was  marked 
indecisive.  The  Rebel  stronghold  was  not  taken,  and 
the  Union  army  did  not  lose  ground.  But  the  carnage 
of  that  day  was  appalling.  Its  numbers  brought  regret 


464  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

even  to  Grant's  stern  heart.  When  the  tattered  record 
was  made  up  at  roll  call,  listed  among  the  missing  were 
the  names  of  the  two  Vinland  Valley  boys  —  one  of 
whom  had  run  for  his  life  that  day;  the  other  was  he 
whose  courage  in  the  crucial  moment  of  direst  peril  had 
turned  the  tide  of  battle  back  upon  the  pursuing  foe,  and 
with  the  miracle  of  song  had  rebuilt  the  broken  columns 
into  a  wall  of  strength. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 
FROM    MARAH    TO    HOREB 

And  the  parched  ground  shall  become  a  pool,  and  the  thirsty 
land,  springs  of  water;  in  the  habitation  of  dragons  where  each 
lay,  shall  be  grass  with  reeds  and  rushes.  And  the  ransomed  of 
the  Lord  shall  obtain  joy  and  gladness  and  sorrow  and  sighing 
shall  flee  away. 

—  Isaiah. 


'  '^7*011  cowardly  deserter  !  You  've  got  caught  up  with 

X  at  last.  We've  knowed  all  these  years  you'd 
never  stick  it  out.  Just  got  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl, 
and  went  to  war  to  please  her  pa.  You  never  had  no 
principles,  you  ornery  cuss." 

These  words,  with  much  swearing,  Elliot  Darrow 
heard  on  the  edge  of  a  thicket-filled  hollow,  when  the 
engagement  of  the  day  was  still  raging  fiercely.  In 
another  minute  he  had  passed  the  thicket  and  was  climb 
ing  out  of  the  ravine  with  his  comrades  on  the  run 
toward  the  point  commanded,  when,  amid  the  rattle  of 
musketry,  he  heard  his  own  name  called  imploringly  : 

"  Elliot  Darrow,  save  me  !  save  me  !  " 

The  color-bearer  halted,  for  he  knew  the  voice.  Push 
ing  through  the  bushes,  he  came  upon  the  three  Mis- 
sourians.  Beside  them  lay  the  half-naked  body  of  a 
dead  Rebel  soldier,  and  crouching  on  the  ground,  cov 
ered  by  the  guns  of  the  Missouri  men,  was  Craig  Penwin. 
He  was  partially  clad  in  Rebel  gray  garments  he  had 
taken  from  the  dead  man,  and  his  face  was  pallid.  To 

465 


466  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Elliot,  who  had  seen  many  ashy  faces  that  day,  the 
gray  color  on  Craig's  countenance  meant  nothing.  The 
thing  about  Craig  that  made  him  hardly  recognizable  to 
his  old-time  acquaintance  was  the  changed  expression. 
No  longer  the  old  insolent  self-possession  and  pride 
showed  there;  but  shame  and  fear  and  abject  pleading 
were  written  on  his  countenance. 

"What's  all  this,  men?"  Elliot  asked.  "What  are 
you  trying  to  do,  Craig?" 

"He's  tryin'  to  get  on  that  poor  devil's  clothes,  and 
make  a  sneak  to  the  other  side,  the  white-livered  deserter. 
The  Rebels  is  just  across  that  next  ravine,"  one  of  the 
Missourians  declared. 

"Yes,  we  caught  him  just  in  time,"  another  of  the 
three  asserted ;  "  and  we  're  goin'  to  march  him  straight 
to  Colonel  Lamond's  headquarters,  and  give  him  up. 
Maybe  we're  only  gittin'  even  for  a  trick  he  played  us 
once,  but  he  never  was  nothin',  anyhow, —  half  blue  an' 
half  gray,  like  them  Reb  pants  he 's  got  on  with  his  blue 
coat,  the  dirty  coward!" 

"  He  '11  be  shot  for  a  deserter  the  minute  old  Lamond 
lays  claws  on  him.  The  Colonel  don't  wait  none.  I  've 
seen  too  many  of  'em  go  not  to  know  that." 

And  Craig  and  Elliot  knew  the  same  thing. 

"  Save  me,  Elliot.  You  know  these  men.  Spare  my 
life,"  he  implored,  with  hands  outstretched  toward  the 
young  Quaker. 

So  White  Turkey  had  lifted  his  hands  in  imitation  of 
this  very  moment.  On  the  wintry  night,  in  the  shadows 
of  the  old  Trail,  the  Delaware  had  faced  Craig  Penwin 
with  the  accusation  of  the  Southerner's  willingness  to 
do  the  Quaker  boy  harm.  And  White  Turkey  had  cried 
prophetically  to  the  proud  young  man : 

"  You  cannot  harm  him.    Some  day  you  lift  up  hands 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   467 

to  Darrow,  so.    You  beg  him  spare  your  life,  you  dog. 
I  've  said  truth." 

For  a  little  space  Elliot  hesitated.  Love  is  overmaster 
ing.  And  Elliot  had  lived  all  day  on  the  joy  of  having 
conquered  the  Scotchman's  prejudice.  But  he  remem 
bered  the  gold  chain  in  Craig's  bosom,  and  he  remem 
bered  a  sweet  face  crowned  with  golden  hair,  the  love-lit 
gray  eyes,  and  the  Madonna  expression  when  the  baby 
had  cuddled  in  loving  arms  on  the  day  of  the  double 
funeral,  long  ago.  For  her  dear  sake,  the  man  must  live. 
Elliot  fought  and  won  the  hardest  battle  of  his  life  —  a 
bloodless  battle  of  loving  sacrifice. 

"  Boys,  let  him  go.  What  do  we  gain  by  fighting  one 
another?  Nobody  knows  who's  turn  will  be  next.  Get 
up,  Craig,  and  for  God's  sake  be  a  man." 

"The  young  feller's  right,  boys.  Our  turn's  coming 
soon.  Let's  let  him  go  this  once,"  the  third  Missourian 
urged.  "  Git  up  and  walk  a  soldier's  gait  now,  or  you  '11 
git  caught  soon  enough." 

Craig  rose  in  humility  and  confusion.  Disgrace  cuts 
deep  into  a  nature  like  his,  and  his  degradation  was 
complete. 

A  shower  of  bullets  fell  about  the  group  as  a  detach 
ment  of  Rebel  soldiers  swept  down  the  hollow.  The 
delay  for  Craig's  sake  had  been  a  dangerous  one  for 
Elliot  Darrow.  Rebel  forces  swung  around  them,  and 
the  rifles  poured  out  their  deadly  charges. 

One  man,  the  one  who  had  agreed  to  Elliot's  entreaty 
for  mercy,  now  fell  under  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  and  in 
an  instant  more  he,  too,  was  before  a  Bar  of  Justice.  But 
as  this  was  his  last  word  on  earth,  might  not  the  merci 
ful  hope  to  obtain  mercy? 

The  second  Missourian,  nearer  to  the  Union  forces 
than  the  others,  sprang  back  with  a  bound  and  dived 


468  AWALLOFMEN 

into  the  thicket.  Soon  he  had  scrambled  out  of  reach 
and  was  on  a  dead  run  for  his  company.  In  the  race,  he 
turned  to  see  if  the  others  were  with  him.  They  were 
beyond  the  ravine, —  Elliot,  Craig,  and  one  Missourian, — 
surrounded  and  captive  to  the  Rebels. 

"I  done  my  best,  Colonel,"  the  man  explained  to 
David  Lamond,  as  soon  as  he  could  gain  an  audience  that 
night,  "  but  the  odds  was  dead  on  us.  Darrow  would  n't 
have  been  caught,  but  he  stopped  at  Penwin's  begging 
for  mercy.  And  I  reckon  he  did  save  the  cowardly 
deserter's  life.  Darrow 's  a  grand  feller.  Never  hope 
to  see  nothin'  better  in  heaven 'n  that  picture  he  made 
up  against  the  trees  an*  piece  of  blue  sky  when  he  swung 
the  flag  overhead  an*  called  us  all  to  rally  round  it.  Oh, 
holy  Moses !  but  now,  did  n't  he  sing ! " 

"  But  he 's  caught  now ;  and  he  had  stopped  to  save 
young  Penwin  from  what  he  deserved."  David  Lamond's 
mind  ran  back  over  the  life  of  his  young  Quaker  neigh 
bor,  and  the  revelation  of  his  own  admiration,  held  back 
so  many  years,  broke  upon  him  now  with  a  crushing 
force.  He  recalled  Hiram  Darrow's  words  on  the  day 
the  two  were  arrested  for  treason  and  had  started  off 
to  the  Lecompton  prison:  "Craig  Penwin  will  need 
my  family  more  than  they  will  ever  need  him."  The 
words  had  become  a  prophecy.  "I  wouldn't  have 
thought  it  of  Craig,"  he  added  sadly. 

"Maybe  not,  Colonel,  but  I  would,  and  I'll  tell  you 
somethin'  else  maybe  nobody 'd  thought.  In  that  squad 
that  got  the  three,  Boniface  Penwin  was  leadin'  'em. 
And  I'll  tell  you  somethin'  more  than  that.  Me  and 
my  two  mates  slipped  out  for  mercy's  sake  and  buried 
our  old  Wakarusa  partner,  Bill.  Excuse  me,  Colonel, 
we  're  human  even  if  we  did  come  out  of  Missouri." 

The   Colonel  smiled.     "Some   of  the  best  men  our 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   469 

country  possesses  are  from  Missouri.  The  State's  all 
right.  Be  proud  of  it.  It's  just  the  few  who  give  it  a 
bad  name.  The  same  is  true  of  Kansas.  And  a  bad 
name  smells  so  far,  it  taints  all  who  are  near  it.  Go  on." 

"Well,  we  buried  Bill,  as  I  said,"  the  man  continued. 
"  But  we  got  to  him  'fore  he  died.  And  he  told  us  his 
errand.  Made  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  us.  It  was  his  last 
show  to  do  right.  He  said  he  'd  come  to  bring  word 
from  the  Colonel  to  Craig  that  if  the  battle  got  too  hot 
Craig  was  to  run  for  it  and  git  into  their  lines  somehow 
and  they'd  care  for  him,  and  afterward  pretend  he'd 
been  captured,  and  it  wan't  to  make  no  difference  in 
his  good  name  with  you.  Said  for  him  to  git  on  part 
of  some  dead  Reb's  clothes,  and  each  side'd  think  he 
belonged  to  them.  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin  's  got  only 
one  good  failin*.  That's  his  interest  in  Craig." 

"  He  is  the  boy's  father,"  Lamond  said  sadly.  And  the 
Missourian  went  on: 

"Craig  was  savin'  himself  at  the  last.  That's  the 
way  with  a  selfish  man.  The  boy  was  darin'  enough 
back  in  Kansas,  but  war  tries  the  last  one  of  us  clean 
to  the  bone.  An'  if  they's  a  mite  of  coward  in  us,  it's 
comin'  out  then.  He  just  couldn't  measure  up  to  a 
brave  man's  size.  When  it  comes  to  marchin'  and  fightin* 
steady,  an'  never  flinchin'  till  the  end  comes,  lots  of 
'em 's  that  way." 

"  No,  he  fell  short.  But  Darrow  did  not  fail.  Heaven 
keep  him  safe.  I  thought  he  was  missing,"  the  Colonel 
murmured. 

Meanwhile  the  three  captive  soldiers  were  given 
unusual  consideration  for  the  remainder  of  that  day. 
When  evening  came,  they  were  conducted  into  the  pres 
ence  of  Colonel  Penwin  and  other  officials,  Craig  still 
wearing  his  gray  pantaloons  and  blue  coat. 


470  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

The  Missourian  was  sent  at  once  to  join  a  squad  of 
prisoners  who  were  on  their  way  to  a  Southern  prison. 

"  Lemme  have  a  word  with  this  feller,  won't  you?" 
he  begged  of  Penwin,  and  the  Colonel,  who  still  had  a 
gentleman's  manners,  allowed  his  request. 

Out  of  earshot,  but  under  guard,  he  spoke. 

"  Darrow,  me  and  the  boys  buried  that  spy,  Bill,  that 
come  in  after  young  Penwin  last  night.  Say,  d  'ye  know 
what  he  come  for?  " 

"  You  told  me  to-day  to  plan  for  Craig  to  desert  and 
yet  not  seem  to  desert,"  Elliot  answered. 

"Yes,  an*  to  give  him  a  little  gold  chain  he'd  stole 
out  of  the  hands  of  a  pretty  girl  in  the  Quantrill  raid 
last  August.  Said  he  was  paid  to  git  it  by  Colonel 
Penwin,  and  luck  favored  him.  She  had  it  in  her  hands 
ready  to  put  on,  I  s'pose,  and  dropped  it  and  run  out  to 
see  what  their  infernal  hullabaloo  was  all  about  when 
they  went  tearin'  into  Lawrence.  And  he  swoops  down 
like  a  hawk  later  an'  makes  the  old  nigger  woman  git 
it  for  him  while  the  girl  was  off  givin'  warnin'  to  save 
men.  And  he  brings  it  clear  here  to  sneak  into  Craig's 
hands.  Bill  was  to  say  the  girl  sent  it  herself  as  a 
token  of  good-will ;  kind  of  keepsake ;  and  when  she  was 
free  again  for  him  to  come  back.  Old  Penwin  planned 
it  all,  but  that  Shawnee  scout  tracked  him  and  heard  it. 
He  told  the  girl  a  raider  got  it.  Now,  what  the  devil 
could  Craig  do  with  a  gold  chain,  d  'ye  reckon?  " 

"  Nothing  with  that  one  if  he  lived  a  thousand  years," 
and  the  smile  on  Elliot  Harrow's  face  belied  the  notion 
that  any  power  could  call  him  a  prisoner  any  more.  In 
the  breast  pocket  of  his  blue  coat  he  carried  the  silk 
handkerchief  and  the  locket.  He  could  find  another 
chain. 

Craig  was  sent  away  under  guard  which  Elliot  knew 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   471 

was  a  mere  pretense,  but  he  wondered  much  at  the 
mixed  uniform  which  the  guard  carelessly  allowed  to 
stay  unchanged. 

"Which  way  will  he  turn,  blue  or  gray?"  Elliot 
wondered.  But  his  own  time  came  now. 

Penwin  sent  all  the  other  men  from  his  tent  and  sat 
alone  with  the  young  Quaker.  After  deliberation,  he 
spoke. 

"  Elliot  Darrow,  I  have  just  one  word  for  you."  How 
like  to  the  Colonel  Penwin  of  the  Vinland  Valley  he 
seemed.  Aristocratic,  arrogant,  unconquerable;  even 
his  voice  brought  echoes  of  the  homeland. 

"  If  you  had  escaped,  I  should  have  followed  a  differ 
ent  course.  Now,  I  shall  not.  I  have  no  fear  of  any 
attempt  any  one  of  you  might  ever  make  against  me.  I 
mean  any  one  of  you  Kansas  men,  St.  Felix,  Merriford, 
or  yourself.  Merriford  will  let  matters  alone.  St.  Felix 
was  reported  missing  at  the  Wilderness  last  month.  I 
heard  later  it  was  a  false  report,  but  no  matter.  He'll 
never  trouble  me." 

"  He  is  a  good  man  wherever  he  is,"  Elliot  said. 

Colonel  Penwin  frowned  and  continued  tersely: 

"I  say  this  to  you.  I  can  give  you  your  freedom,  or 
send  you  to  Andersonville." 

"Well?"  Elliot's  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Colonel, 
and  in  them  he  saw  again  the  accusing  eyes  of  his  cousin, 
Neil  Merriford. 

"  If  you  will  promise  me  to  renounce  all  claim  to  Eliza 
beth  Lamond  and  leave  the  way  clear  for  my  son  to 
press  his  suit  with  her,  you  can  go  to  Grant's  camp  under 
safe  conduct,  and  fight  or  run  as  suits  your  fancy.  Miss 
Lamond's  promise  is  given  to  you.  I  heard  it  upon  the 
bluff  by  the  old  Trail  one  April  evening  long  ago.  I  was 
passing  at  the  time.  That  was  mere  child's  fancy.  Much 


472  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

as  that  beautiful  woman  loves  my  son,  for  they  Ve  been 
engaged  really  since  last  year  at  the  time  of  his  furlough 
there  —  she  feels  bound  by  her  old  promise,  unless  you 
will  release  her." 

Colonel  Penwin  dropped  his  eyes  that  the  Union  sol 
dier  might  not  see  the  cunning  look  he  could  not  hide. 

"You  are  an  honorable  fellow.  I  have  always 
respected  your  integrity.  My  boy  has  now  the  gold  chain 
Elizabeth  gave  him  last  summer  in  pledge  of  love.  You 
will  not  keep  her  to  her  word.  Promise  me  now  that 
you  renounce  your  claim.  Do  you  know  what  Ander- 
sonville  is?  It  is  hell.  You'll  never  come  out  of  that 
prison  alive.  Think  of  that  beautiful  woman,  your 
mother.  Promise  me." 

There  was  command  and  threat  and  petition  all  min 
gled  in  Boniface  Penwin's  tones,  and  his  face  was  gray 
with  the  intensity  of  his  passion.  The  young  soldier, 
helpless  in  his  hands,  looked  out  on  life  and  freedom  on 
the  one  hand,  and  on  imprisonment  and  death  on  the 
other.  How  long  will  a  Quaker's  patience  endure?  So 
long  as  a  Scotch  lassie's  strength  fails  not.  Then  he 
spoke. 

"Boniface  Penwin,  if  you  think  you  have  it  in  your 
power  to  save  me  from  prison  and  yet,  before  you  exer 
cise  your  power,  you  demand  me  to  give  up  my  right  to 
the  hand  of  a  girl  all  my  own," — his  eyes  were  flashing 
proudly  now, — "  let  me  tell  you  that  the  imprisonment 
of  a  free  man  is  better  than  the  freedom  of  a  coward.  I 
can  suffer  for  my  country.  I  will  not  give  up  anything 
that  is  mine  to  keep  to  save  myself  from  any  prison 
bond  that  you  or  the  whole  Confederacy  may  lay  upon 
me.  You  have  my  answer." 

So  Elliot  Darrow  was  ticketed  for  Andersonville,  but 
the  machinery  of  warfare  moves  slowly  for  the  captives. 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   473 

It  was  almost  a  month  before  the  Quaker  soldier  reached 
the  stockade  prison. 

In  the  late  June  time  the  broad  Kansas  prairies  are 
all  an  emerald  sea,  the  heaviest  foliage  is  on  the  wood 
land,  the  streams  run  fullest  from  the  rains  of  the  early 
summer,  and  over  everything  sweeps  the  soft  light  breeze 
bearing  the  wine  of  life  from  sunlit  spaces  void  of  all 
miasma.  It  was  in  these  crowning  days  of  the  year's 
rich  beauty  that  Elliot  Darrow  with  many  other  com 
rades  was  thrust  into  prison  for  the  crime  of  loyalty 
to  the  flag  of  his  country.  As  the  prisoner's  train  bore 
him  southward  into  the  heart  of  the  red  clay  lands  and 
pitch-pine  forests  of  Southern  Georgia,  he  began  to 
understand  the  slave's  horror  of  being  sold  "down  the 
river." 

Elliot's  boyhood  had  been  spent  in  the  thriving  pros 
perity  of  a  Quaker  village  in  Indiana.  His  young  man 
hood  was  on  the  Kansas  border,  where  each  day  in  the 
Vinland  Valley  was  like  a  rent,  a  sword  thrust,  a  shift 
ing  of  all  settled  things,  as  Beth  Lamond  had  said.  His 
college  days  were  in  the  halls  of  Haverford,  where  ideals 
of  citizenship  and  high  scholarly  standards  combine. 
The  post-graduate  course  of  Civil  War  had  trained  him 
with  the  development  found  in  the  curriculum  of  no 
other  school.  Inwrought  into  his  character  was  the  influ 
ence  of  his  father's  guidance  and  his  mother's  strength; 
the  love  of  a  pure-hearted  girl;  the  association  of  Dr. 
St.  Felix,  and  Winthrop  Merriford  and  other  Lawrence 
men  who  measured  large  in  mental  and  moral  girth, 
and  wielded  the  affairs  of  a  State  according  to  their 
own  measure;  and  the  stern  loyalty  of  Colonel  Lamond 
demanding  nothing  short  of  his  best  self  always.  He 
was  in  the  vigor  of  his  years  and  his  physique,  pliant 
and  wholesome  from  outdoor  life,  was  tempered  to  great 


474  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

endurance.  With  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart,  he  came 
to  pay  the  prisoner's  price  for  the  preservation  of  a 
Nation's  life. 

The  Andersonville  prison,  comprising  nearly  thirty 
acres,  lay  in  a  rectangular  form  on  the  side  of  a  red 
clay  slope  from  which  every  stick  of  growing  timber  had 
been  removed.  Around  the  entire  rectangle  was  a  stock 
ade  of  hewn  logs  driven  into  the  ground  and  project 
ing  upward  eighteen  feet,  making  an  impassable  wall 
about  the  open  space  within.  Outside  of  this  barrier, 
sentry  boxes  were  placed  at  intervals  of  eighty  feet. 
Here  the  guard  kept  hourly  vigil  that  no  man  might 
climb  the  wall  and  escape  alive.  Sixteen  feet  inside 
the  enclosure  was  a  low  railing,  hardly  two  feet  high, 
parallel  with  the  entire  wall  surrounding  it.  A  small 
sluggish  creek  banked  by  low  marshy  borders  ran 
through  the  lower  part  of  the  prison  from  the  west  to 
the  southeast.  A  bridge  had  been  constructed  across 
this  creek  some  distance  from  where  it  entered  the 
stockade  on  the  west.  The  prison  had  been  designed 
for  the  incarceration  of  ten  thousand  men.  On  the 
June  morning  when  Elliot  Darrow  was  brought  hither 
and  thrust  inside  its  timbered  enclosure,  there  were 
thirty  thousand  men  swarming  up  and  down  its  sun- 
boiled  spaces. 

The  day  was  intensely  hot,  and  the  humid  air  was 
almost  unbearable.  No  breath  of  breeze  gave  any  relief 
to  its  oppressive  weight.  Elliot  was  worn  and  feverish 
from  travel  in  crowded  prison  cars,  and  he  welcomed  the 
end  of  the  journey.  Inside  the  gates  he  stopped  to 
stretch  his  limbs  and  get  his  bearings,  and  seek  the 
nearest  shelter  for  rest,  and  maybe  a  minute's  seclusion. 
God  made  the  solitude  for  man's  healing  balm. 

Elliot  had  thought  of  the  stockade  prison  as  a  relief 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   475 

from  walled  cells.  Before  him,  in  the  untempered  glare 
of  heat  blaring  down  through  heavy,  steamy  air,  lay  a 
great  sandy  tract  slivered  across  with  hot  red  clay.  Not 
a  line  of  shade  was  between  the  bare  foul  earth  below 
and  the  brazen  furnace  of  scalding  heat  above.  The 
eyeballs  ached  at  the  sight  of  it  all.  What  a  Godsend 
one  single  tree  would  have  been.  But  in  rain  or  frost 
or  sweltering  downpour  of  sunlight,  the  prison  was 
an  unroofed  inferno,  and  those  who  had  dared  to  strike 
for  Old  Glory  must  take  what  came  of  Nature's  cruelty. 

Before  the  band  of  captives  had  neared  the  stockade, 
the  stench  arising  from  within  had  been  sickening. 
Inside  the  walls  the  sinks  for  sanitary  drainage  along  the 
lower  portion  of  the  stream  of  water,  swarming  with 
putrid  growths,  sent  up  their  foul  odors  to  thicken  the 
hot  moist  atmosphere.  Here  thirty  thousand  men  were 
struggling  about  in  a  space  of  less  than  thirty  acres. 
Small  wonder  if  the  dream  of  the  sweet  summer  air  of 
the  Kansas  prairies,  and  the  fancied  breath  of  the  cool 
shadows  of  the  old  Trail  in  the  woodsy  winding  ways 
above  the  Vinland  Valley  should  come  with  their  tanta 
lizing,  forbidden  comfort  before  the  young  prisoner; 
and  for  the  moment,  the  memory  of  the  wild  roses  and 
verbenas  on  the  sides  of  Mount  Oread  should  taunt  him 
with  their  perfume. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know." 

Was  it  an  angel's  voice  in  Elliot  Darrow's  ear?  The 
speaker  did  not  look  like  a  model  for  a  Raphael  or  a 
Correggio.  A  little  thin-faced  man,  whose  clothes,  soiled 
to  the  limit,  hung  on  a  shrunken  frame.  A  man  with 
hair  uncut  and  bearded,  unshaven  face  of  greasy  tan, 
and  hands  most  grimy.  It  would  take  more  than  a 
palm  or  harp  to  make  an  angel  out  of  him.  But  the 
eyes,  little  beady  black  eyes,  and  the  voice  —  these 


476  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

belonged  to  Coke  Wren,  or  to  an  angel  like  to  him. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?"  There  was  no  sense 
in  Elliot's  blank  reply,  and  the  two  men  stood  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms. 

"How  did  you  persuade  'em  to  let  you  in?"  Coke's 
ruling  passion  held  him  still.  "  You  was  reported  miss 
ing  after  you  called  the  retreat  back  at  Cold  Harbor.  I 
thought  you  was  dead,  but  I  wasn't  expecting  to  meet 
up  with  you  in  hell  for  some  time  yet.  I  Ve  been  here 
some  spell  myseli.  They  say  a  body  can  get  used  to 
most  anything.  I  'm  makin'  the  effort  of  my  life  to  git 
used  to  this,  but  it's  most  too  extravagant  for  my 
imagination." 

"  It  will  take  heaven  a  long  while  to  get  used  to  you, 
Coke  Wren,  when  you  get  there.  You  are  too  good 
for  it." 

And  the  strong  man  leaned  on  the  little  one  and  wept 
the  tears  the  limit  of  endurance  only  can  bring  to 
men's  eyes. 

"Oh,  cry  away,  Elliot.  It'll  do  you  good.  You  git 
it  all  done  the  first  day  you  are  here,  'n  after  that  you 
ain't  bothered  more." 

They  sat  down  together  on  the  sun-baked  clay,  and 
told  each  other  of  their  fortunes.  About  them,  unheeded 
for  the  time,  long-haired  men,  with  bodies  begrimed, 
and  ragged  clothes  be-vermined,  starving,  desperate  men 
reeled  up  and  down  or  sat  in  stolid  misery,  or  lay  in 
deathly  illness. 

"I  got  into  the  service  the  same  night  I  seen  you," 
Coke  explained,  "and  I  seen  one  hour  of  fightin'  with 
my  Massachusetts  men,  an'  then  —  you  know  my  tend 
ency  to  accidents.  I  got  too  darin',  an'  after  doin'  some 
little  personal  damage  to  some  of  'em,  I  got  swept  into 
the  dust  pan  with  a  lot  more  an'  throwed  in  here.  I 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   477 

wanted  to  fight,  but  when  I  see  what  was  comin'  I  just 
gripped  hard  onto  the  Lord  Almighty  an'  I  says  '  My 
times  is  in  Your  hands.  I  wanted  to  work  for  You,  an' 
couldn't.  Now  it's  Your  turn,  ef  I'm  worth  anything 
to  You,  You  '11  make  it  plain  by  keepin'  me  in  the  holler 
of  Your  hands  an'  let  me  be  a  sort  o'  comfort  to  the 
downcast.'  This  ain't  no  place  fer  Addison's  littery  pro 
ductions,  ner  Pope's  '  Essay  Onto  Man,'  but  them 
Psalms  your  mother  read  you,  an'  the  everlastin'  love 
of  the  Man  of  Galilee,  they's  some  reality  in  them 
things  when  you're  on  the  underside  of  hell  an'  the 
whole  Confederacy 's  settin'  on  the  lid  of  the  bubblin' 
caldron  atop  of  you." 

So  Coke  talked  on,  and  Elliot,  to  whom  he  had  come 
as  a  miracle  of  blessing,  gathered  inspiration  from  his 
spirit.  Not  always  are  the  chosen  ones  the  rich  and 
great  and  beautiful.  In  that  prison-house  of  anguish 
and  suffering,  Coke  Wren  was  a  daily  blessing. 

"  Lemme  show  you  the  grounds,"  the  Yankee  said 
after  awhile,  and  together  they  crept  about  the  dreary 
spaces. 

"What's  that  little  railing  for?"  Elliot  asked  as  they 
approached  the  side  near  the  little  timber  railing  sixteen 
feet  from  the  wall,  and  he  made  a  stride  toward  it.  With 
a  shriek,  Coke  caught  him  just  in  time  to  drag  him  back 
ward,  and  a  roar  of  voices  rose  round  about  him.  At 
the  same  time  a  rifle  ball  sent  up  a  cloud  of  red  dust 
from  the  clay  where  he  had  stood. 

"That's  the  dead  line.  Learn  it  quick,"  Coke 
ejaculated. 

"The  what?"  queried  Elliot. 

"The  dead  line,  boy.  It  goes  clear  round  the  prison 
inside.  Whoever  crosses  that  by  accident,  or  ignorance, 
or  wilful,  is  to  be  shot  down  instantaneous  and  no  chance 


478  AWALLOFMEN 

to  escape.     Them  sentry  boxes  is  there  to  hold  murderers." 

He  pointed  to  the  line  of  cages,  each  holding  its  sen 
tinel  ready. 

"The  worst  place  is  the  water.  Keep  close  to  the 
bridge  an'  starve  a  half  a  day  'fore  you  go  up  to  the 
west  side.  More  men's  lost  their  lives  tryin'  to  git 
water 'n  any  other  way.  Lemme  show  you." 

They  worked  their  way  through  the  crowded  grounds 
until  they  reached  the  bridge  across  the  creek.  Below 
the  bridge  the  marshy  creek  banks  were  trampled  into 
a  slime  of  mud  by  the  feet  of  the  thousands  who  came 
here  to  bathe,  or  to  cast  their  refuse  into  the  sinks.  In 
the  small  space  between  the  bridge  and  the  dead  line  on 
the  West  the  stream  was  reserved  for  drinking  and  cook 
ing  uses.  Here  all  day  and  all  night  the  place  was 
crowded  with  men  struggling  for  their  turn  to  get  the 
water.  Warm,  muddy,  and  poisonous  as  it  was,  the  men 
were  dying  of  thirst  and  here  they  found  their  only  sup 
ply.  If  in  the  madness  to  secure  it  a  man  was  pushed 
across  the  fatal  dead  line,  he  never  came  back. 

This,  then,  was  the  prison  life  from  which  Boniface 
Penwin  would  keep  the  Quaker  soldier  if  he  would 
renounce  his  claim  to  the  hand  of  Elizabeth  Lamond. 
Into  this  life  Elliot  Darrow  had  voted  himself,  and  he 
set  his  teeth  and  took  it  up  as  bravely  as  he  could. 

When  human  beings  turn  to  jungle  beasts  and  prey  on 
others  of  their  kind,  then  man  turns  meekly  to  Him 
who  like  as  a  father  pitieth  His  children. 

"  Let  it  be  mine  to  forget  myself  a  little  by  trying 
to  help  somebody  else."  The  longing  cry  of  the  young 
soldier  reached  far  above  the  stench  and  sin  and  sickness 
and  sorrow  of  that  vile  prison  pen. 

As  July  crept  by,  he  earned  the  name  of  Doctor  Dar 
row.  True,  it  was  little  he  could  do,  for  the  nothingness 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   479 

of  resource  and  supplies  was  the  great  source  of  misery 
there.  But  his  knowledge  of  anatomy  and  physiology 
and  medicine  gave  him  a  little  hold  toward  helpfulness, 
and  his  only  solace  was  the  wan  smile  of  some  dying 
man  or  sick  comrade  whom  he  could  by  his  judgment 
or  his  kind  word  relieve  a  little. 

The  heat  increased  with  the  passing  of  each  blazing 
July  day.  The  waters  diminished  and  grew  more  foul. 
Sickness  in  every  form,  smallpox,  scurvy,  fever,  and  all 
bowel  ills  in  deadliest  degree  were  in  that  camp  of 
Union  captives. 

The  starving  ration  of  raw  corn  meal,  without  salt, 
cooked  by  each  man  for  himself,  or  the  thin  pea-soup, 
was  the  only  food  for  men  to  live  upon.  There  was  no 
soap,  no  change  of  clothing,  no  comb  nor  razor,  no  medi 
cine.  Vermin  crawled  over  the  ground  in  swarms,  flies 
and  maggots  abounded,  and  the  contact  of  disease 
polluted  all  the  place. 

And  still  the  July  sun  knew  no  mercy  for  these  for 
saken  ones.  The  death-rate  crawled  up  to  two  hundred 
eighty  every  twenty-four  hours.  And  all  the  time  the 
cry  for  "  Water !  Water ! "  went  up  to  the  glaring  heavens, 
and  still  the  polluted  stream  with  its  thick  coating  of 
scum,  hot  and  foul,  poisoned  men  famishing  with  thirst. 

With  these  awful  forces  of  destruction  daily  wearing 
out  the  captives,  came  the  devil  and  his  temptations. 
Throughout  the  camp,  reaching  to  its  every  corner,  a 
word  was  sent,  —  the  message  from  the  North.  It 
declared  that  these  men  of  Andersonville,  so  starved  and 
sick  and  useless  now,  were  repudiated  by  the  Union 
powers,  and  the  great-hearted  President  at  Washington. 
It  said  there  would  be  no  trading  of  fat,  sleek  Rebel 
prisoners  able  to  fight  again  for  men  unfit  for  service  if 
they  were  free.  The  North  needed  men,  not  cadavers, 


480  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

and  hope  of  exchange  must  be  abandoned.  How  could 
the  captives  doubt  this?  No  line  of  a  letter,  or  news 
paper,  no  voice  from  the  outside  world  could  reach 
them.  Thirty  thousand  men,  with  less  than  two  feet  of 
wood  between  themselves  and  freedom,  were  held  dying, 
famishing  for  food  and  water,  and  ignorant  all  the  while 
of  what  was  going  on  in  the  land.  Truly,  the  mental 
starvation  told  not  less  than  the  physical  hunger. 

And  the  devil  came  in  another  dress,  for  his  wardrobe 
is  both  large  and  varied. 

"  Look  at  them  notices  of  '  modified  allegiance, ' "  Coke 
Wren  drawled,  feebly.  He  could  not  stand  now  from 
weakness.  "Tell  me  what  they  say." 

Elliot  read  the  temptation  written  up  for  all  the  captive 
Union  men  to  meet. 

To  every  man  who  would  promise  to  lay  down  arms 
and  fight  no  more  for  the  Star-spangled  Banner,  freedom 
and  safe  conduct  to  his  home. 

He  need  not  be  loyal  to  the  South.  He  need  not  lift 
a  finger  in  its  defence.  All  that  was  asked  was  that  the 
oath  be  taken  to  add  no  more  fighting  strength  to  the 
Union  cause. 

Poor  starved  and  dying  wretches,  shut  up  from  the 
world,  forgotten  by  the  Powers  you  serve!  The  gates 
are  waiting  to  be  flung  wide  open  and  freedom  and  safety 
and  home  are  just  beyond  you.  Only  say  the  word; 
lift  up  your  thin  right  hands  to  heaven  and  swear  no 
more  to  defend  Old  Glory,  and  all  these  are  yours. 

And  did  they  lift  up  thin  right  hands  and  forswear 
the  flag  they  loved?  Did  they?  From  among  the  fifty 
thousand  men  imprisoned  here  in  the  time  of  Anderson- 
ville's  power,  twenty-six,  just  twenty-six,  took  oath  and 
freedom.  The  remainder  of  the  fifty  thousand,  though 
they  died  by  the  thousands,  or  lived  on  in  misery,  swore 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   481 

not.     But  loyal  still  they  held  their  right  as  men  to 
fight  and  die  like  men  for  the  banner  of  their  country. 

And  how  can  man  die  better 

Than  facing  fearful  odds 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers, 

And  the  temples  of  his  Gods? 

The  burning  July  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  the  day 
of  fiercest  heat  and  intensest  suffering  that  the  prison 
camp  had  known.  All  day  long  the  cry  for  "Water! 
Water!"  had  rent  the  air.  Many  that  day  gave  up  the 
struggle  and  found  the  fountains  of  living  water  beside 
the  tree  that  bear  twelve  manner  of  fruit  whose  leaves 
are  for  the  healing  of  the  nation.  But  thousands  were 
less  fortunate,  and  the  hours  of  the  long,  blistering 
afternoon  dragged  by.  Another  day  like  this,  men  could 
not  endure.  Surely,  the  cross  laid  on  them  would  break 
them  now.  And  the  sunset  flamed  out  in  angry  fire,  and 
the  green  stinking  stream  shrunk  under  the  blazing 
fury. 

A  word  went  whispering  up  and  down  the  ranks  of 
pallid  men.  Wild-eyed,  unkempt,  tattered  and  filthy  fel 
lows  they  were,  but  Union  men  still,  and  true  to  their 
colors. 

There  will  be  a  prayer  meeting  at  six  o'clock.  A 
prayer  meeting!  Yes,  men  give  up  prayer  the  last  of  all 
renunciations.  Prayer  meetings  there  had  been  many, 
but  tonight  the  word: 

"  We  must  pray  for  water.  *  Whatsoever  ye  shall  ask 
in  my  name,  that  will  I  give.'  In  His  name  ask  for 
water." 

The  leading  man  who  took  that  word  about  was  the 
tall,  dark-faced  preacher  who  had  held  the  spirits  of  the 
Palmyra  people  up  to  the  call  of  a  great  sacrifice.  True 
to  his  teachings,  he  had  fought  and  suffered  for  the 


482  AWALLOFMEN 

Nation  and  its  people.  In  this  prison  pen  he  was  a  com 
forter  to  the  stricken  ones,  and  he  oftenest,  maybe, 
closed  the  dying  eyes. 

The  word  went  up  and  down.  "  Let  us  pray  for 
water." 

And  all  the  while  the  poison  stuff  slid  slimily  down 
the  bottom  of  the  creek  bed. 

Six  o'clock,  and  over  the  acres  of  men,  a  picture  of  woe 
our  Nation  will  never  have  to  see  again,  over  the  sick, 
and  those  who  tried  to  minister  to  them,  fell  the  spirit 
of  prayer.  All  over  the  wide  foul  camp  groups  of  men 
stood  with  bowed  heads,  while  other  men  prayed  in 
devoted  companies.  And  the  prayer  was  for  God's  mer 
ciful  gift  of  water,  a  wail  of  human  need  to  Him  whose 
are  the  waters  of  the  earth. 

Night  fell  and  the  humid  heat  knew  no  surcease.  No 
ripple  of  cool  evening  breeze  stirred  the  dead  calm  of 
that  fetid  place.  Low  in  the  west  a  silent  black  bank 
of  cloud  was  rising.  It  swept  up  slowly,  majestically, 
sublimely.  It  was  shot  through  with  lurid  shafts  of 
lightning.  Then  the  first  faint  roll  of  thunder,  like  the 
roll  of  cannon,  fell  upon  the  ear.  And  then  the  thunder 
began  to  boom.  The  play  of  lightning  grew  fiercer  and 
louder  rolled  the  heaven's  cannonade,  until  a  crashing 
of  tremendous  bursts  of  sound,  a  constant  blinding  blaze 
of  light,  a  screaming  wind,  and  all  the  powers  of  the 
heavens  went  mad  in  the  wild  storm  of  that  July  night. 

Under  its  terrific  beating,  the  unsheltered  men  lay 
prone.  All  forces  had  power  to  buffet  them.  And  God 
seemed  far  away,  or  reaching  down  to  earth  only  in  his 
wrathful  chariot  of  storm  fury. 

Elliot  Darrow  lay  beside  Coke  Wren.  Beyond  him 
was  the  same  Missouri  man  who  long  ago  had  sought 
his  life. 


FROM  MARAH  TO  HOREB   483 

"  We  '11  get  up  early,  Coke,"  Elliot  said,  "  and  get  you 
up  to  the  creek  so  you  can  have  the  best  drink." 

"That  we  will,"  the  Missourian  declared. 

"  I  ain't  worth  it,  boys.  Let  the  big  men  drink  first," 
Coke  urged.  "A  Yankee  is  pretty  much  of  a  salt  fish, 
anyhow." 

The  gray  dawn  came  at  last.  The  storm  had  cooled 
the  air.  Out  in  the  world  the  pine  trees  gleamed  with 
raindrops  in  the  first  light  of  morning.  Clearer  grew 
the  day  and  sweeter  the  air  for  a  brief  time,  while  the 
dead  odors  lay  flat  to  earth.  Down  to  the  creek  the  men 
came  crowding  with  drawn  faces,  longing  for  water, 
even  for  that  slimy  liquid.  The  stream  was  swollen  by 
the  midnight  storm,  and  all  the  filth  it  held  was  swim 
ming  on  the  surface.  As  the  men  were  gathering  nearer 
Elliot,  Coke,  the  Missourian,  and  the  Palmyra  preacher 
made  their  way  toward  the  creek. 

And  behold  the  day  of  God's  miracles  come  back  to 
earth  again! 

Not  far  from  the  creek  on  the  side  of  the  slope  an 
effort  had  been  made  to  dig  a  well  and  the  effort  had 
failed.  This  morning  out  of  the  place  a  stream  of  sweet, 
pure,  clear  water  was  gushing  joyously,  as  if  it  knew  the 
life-giving  power  and  gladness  it  would  bring.  No  pause, 
no  stay,  no  diminishing  in  its  volume,  it  poured  without 
money  and  without  price  for  the  parched  fever-smitten 
captives. 

Elliot  D  arrow  gave  a  shout. 

"  Water !  water !    Come  get  water ! " 

The  next  man  caught  up  the  cry,  and  the  next,  and 
the  next.  And  soon  from  length  to  length  of  that 
great  prison  pen  the  shout  arose,  a  mighty  voice  of 
surprise  and  exultation. 

"Water!  water!  God  has  sent  us  water." 


484  A    WALL    OF    MEN 

Then  down  in  that  desolate  Georgian  prison  camp 
there  came  a  sight  the  like  of  which  no  other  land  may 
ever  know.  Beside  the  gushing  crystal  waters,  free  gift 
of  God  to  loyal  men,  stood  Elliot  Darrow,  his  tall  form 
in  the  dawning  light  outlined  against  the  western  stock 
ade,  the  glow  of  the  morning  on  his  thin,  gaunt  face  and 
great  dark  eyes,  his  long  hair  in  a  mat  of  curls  tangled 
about  his  brow.  But  the  smile  that  lighted  his  counte 
nance  was  as  joyous  as  of  yore  in  the  little  Darrarat 
beside  the  old  Trail.  Lifting  up  his  voice,  he  sang 
as  he  had  never  sung  before.  And  up  from  all  the  camp 
came  the  voice  of  thousands  of  men  who  sang  with  him 
in  one  grand  hymn  of  gratitude. 

Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow. 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below. 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  Heavenly  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost. 

And  the  day  of  God's  miracles  failed  not  to  the  sons  of 
men,  even  to  the  closing  hours  of  the  Civil  War  in 
America. 


The  prophet  Ezekiel  has   written  that,  fronting  to   eastward, 

stands 
A  house,  from  under  whose  threshold  the  waters  pour,  healing 

all  lands. 
The  fishermen  of  Engedi  spread  their  nets  and  rejoice,  day  by 

day, 
The  trees  on  its  banks  never  wither,  the  deserts  with  blossoms 

are  gay, 
And  so  may  we  write  of  this  Kansas, — a  house  fronting  still  to 

the  sun; 
So  long  as  its  sons  and  its  daughters  shall  do  as  their  fathers 

have  done, 
While  the  Kaw  runs  to  the  Missouri,  the  Missouri  runs  on  to 

the  sea, 
The  throb  of  the  blossom-starred  prairies,  the  pulse  of  the  world 

shall  be. 
And  the  limit  no  man  shall  measure  for  the  end  is  Eternity. 

WHEN  CRAIG  PENWIN  was  sent  under  safeguard 
from  his  father's  tent,  his  anger  burst  forth,  and 
upon  his  father's  head  he  heaped  his  wrath.  He  believed 
his  guards  would  lead  him  wherever  he  chose.  He  be 
lieved,  too,  that  Elliot  and  one  Missourian  were  safely 
out  of  his  way,  and  that  one  Missourian  was  dead.  Fate 
had  let  the  third  man  escape  and  take  back  the  tale  of  his 
desertion  to  Colonel  Lamond.  Craig  knew  precisely 
what  that  meant. 

Now  there  was  no  way  open  before  him.    To  stay  in 
the  Rebel  camp  meant  nothing,  for  his  father  had  fool- 

485 


486  AWALLOFMEN 

ishly  joined  the  squad  sent  out  to  capture  Elliot,  and 
as  for  himself  the  whole  force  had  caught  him  deserting. 
Everything  had  failed.  Craig  did  not  look  within  to 
see  how  he  himself,  with  high  instincts  and  a  clear 
understanding  of  a  man's  duty,  had  come  so  near  to  a 
life's  success  only  to  fail  through  his  own  selfishness. 
So  he  cursed  his  fate,  and  roundly  he  cursed  his  father 
for  this  interference.  No  pulse-beat  of  pity  had  the  son 
for  his  father  whose  one  love  he  was,  and  to  whom,  for 
his  happiness,  no  sacrifice  seemed  too  great.  Selfishness 
held  supreme,  and  in  the  dimness  of  the  June  twilight 
he  avowed  his  hatred  of  Boniface  Penwin. 

A  hundred  yards  from  his  father's  tent  a  bullet  whis 
tled  through  the  air,  striking  Craig  in  the  side  as  he 
passed. 

"Jack  Bobbs,  you  idiot,  what  are  you  trying  to  do?" 
It  was  the  Atlanta  gambler,  Roxbury,  who  cried  out  as 
the  bullet  flew. 

"  Oh,  pickin'  off  a  Union  dog  that  was  gittin'  too  smart, 
or  a  Rebel  deserter  tryin'  to  get  into  the  Union  lines  in 
his  blue  coat  and  gray  breeches.  He  was  cussin'  Colonel 
Penwin  out  of  his  clothin'  over  somethin',"  Bobbs  re 
plied. 

"Since  when  did  you  begin  to  defend  Colonel  Pen- 
win?  You  didn't  git  the  man  you  was  after  yet,  but 
you  did  git  his  boy.  Come  on.  Come  on,  we  got  to 
wait  awhile  for  that  now." 

"I  don't  know  why  we've  got  to.  I  won't  hear  no 
Union  devil  cussin'  a  Rebel  officer  an*  not  shoot  him. 
Was  that  Penwin's  boy?  Well,  he  deserved  shootin'  for 
cussin'  his  daddy,"  Bobbs  replied,  and  the  two  disap 
peared. 

Craig  fell  heavily  to  the  ground,  insensible.  The  pity 
he  had  denied  his  father  was  at  last  his  own  undoing. 


LOCKET    AND     CHAIN  487 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  the  next  day,  he  was  in  the 
hospital  at  Richmond  and  Rosalind  St.  Felix  was  bend 
ing  over  him. 

Nothing  was  ever  quite  so  becoming  to  Rosalind  as 
a  nurse's  dress.  The  fine  young  Southern  surgeon  who 
stood  near  her  came  forward  at  her  signal.  Craig 
moved  in  time  to  see  the  look  that  passed  between 
them. 

"  Rosalind,  you  here  ?  "  he  asked,  feebly. 

"  Yes,  Craig."  Her  eyes  were  full  of  a  happy  light,  and 
Craig  understood. 

"How  is  it?"  he  asked  the  kind-faced  surgeon  who 
bent  over  him. 

"Release  is  near,  my  boy.    Have  you  any  message?" 

Craig  shook  his  head. 

"Where  is  Elliot,  Craig?"  Rosalind  asked. 

The  look  of  insolent  pride  came  again.  It  had  become 
the  mastering  habit. 

"In  Andersonville,  I  hope,"  he  said,  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

The  next  day  his  nurse  found  only  one  keepsake,  a 
gold  chain  which  she  recognized,  and  she  pondered  much 
on  how  he  could  have  gotten  it.  True,  Beth  had  never 
spoken  of  her  loss,  and  in  the  fright  of  that  awful  raid 
Rosalind  forgot  the  incident  of  Lucy  and  Beth  and  the 
pretty  trinket. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  this?"  she  asked  the  young 
surgeon.  It  was  very  dear  to  a  Kansas  girl.  I  can't 
understand  why  she  should  have  given  it  to  Craig 
Penwin." 

"Then  send  it  back  to  the  Kansas  girl,"  the  surgeon 
suggested.  "  She  ought  to  have  the  final  word  about  it. 
And  between  ourselves,  Rossie,  I  have  no  use  for  Colonel 
Boniface  Penwin.  Nor  have  his  superior  officers,  I 


488  AWALLOFMEN 

believe.  He's  not  their  kind  of  a  man,  it  seems  to  me. 
I  understand  this  young  fellow  would  n't  have  been  shot 
if  the  guards  had  allowed  him  to  change  his  clothes.  But 
they  kept  him  half  blue  and  half  gray  out  of  hatred  for 
his  father." 

When  the  September  sun  was  swinging  far  to  the 
south  and  Fall  was  sending  the  early  yellow  leaves  dead 
ripe  to  the  earth,  the  gates  of  the  prison  pen  at  Ander- 
sonville  opened  to  admit  a  small,  dark  man,  dressed  in 
the  uniform  of  a  Confederate  officer. 

"This  way,  St.  Felix,"  a  guard  said.  "The  Kansas 
men  are  on  the  west  side  generally.  They  like  the 
West." 

Coke  Wren  and  Elliot  Darrow  sat  together  in  the 
three  square  yards  of  earth  they  called  their  home,  and 
Dr.  St.  Felix  walked  across  the  prison  toward  them. 

"I  want  to  know."  It  was  a  very  feeble  voice  now. 
"  There 's  St.  Felix.  Wonder  how  they  got  him  in." 

Elliot  could  not  smile.  His  gaunt,  sad  face  appeared 
to  have  lost  its  power  to  do  that  any  more. 

St.  Felix  saw  them,  and,  self-possessed  man  that  he 
was,  he  staggered  in  his  steps. 

"  Boys !  boys ! "  was  all  he  could  say. 

"  Not  much  left  of  us,  Doc,  but  all  red,  white  an'  blue 
under  the  dirt  still,"  Coke  Wren  declared. 

The  doctor  grasped  a  hand  of  each.  "  Great  God !  and 
you  will  endure  all  this  for  the  sake  of  your  flag.  No 
use  for  the  southern  armies  to  fight  such  men  as  you 
any  further.  I  bring  you  good  news.  Your  commanders, 
Major  Merriford  and  Colonel  Lamond,  have  managed 
to  get  you  a  free  pass  out  of  here."  He  could  not  say 
more,  for  the  eyes  of  the  two  were  more  than  he  could 
stand. 

"You  mean,"  Elliot  said,  "that  you  have  done  the 


LOCKET     AND     CHAIN  489 

biggest  part  of  it.     The   South  never  held  a  grander 
man  than  Dr.  St.  Felix." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  much,  —  small,  —  you  know,"  the  doctor 
tried  to  smile. 

"Yes,  we  know  darned  well  about  your  size,"  Coke 
declared. 

The  three  hastened  from  the  place,  but  not  before 
Elliot  had  said  good-by  to  many,  and  joy  and  regret 
went  with  him,  for  Doctor  Darrow  was  a  friend  to  many. 

"  I  'm  glad  Missouri  is  gone,  Coke,"  Elliot  said.  "  He 
died  bravely  and  we  could  n't  have  left  him  here." 

"He's  the  man  Elliot  Darrow  turned  fr^m  bein'  a 
murderer  to  a  loyal  citizen  by  singin'  to  Joe  once  long 
ago,"  Coke  explained. 

As  they  pursued  their  journey  northward,  they  talked 
of  the  chances  of  war  and  afterward.  It  seemed  im 
possible  that  they  could  ever  have  been  enemies. 

"The  end  is  near,"  St.  Felix  said.  "I  shall  stay  in 
Richmond.  We  are  beaten  now  and  I'm  going  to  help 
build  up  my  South  shattered  by  this  war.  You  Kansas 
men  are  making  the  West  by  your  everlasting  adherence 
to  your  principle  of  your  right  to  freedom.  Its  future 
will  be  glorious  if  your  sons  and  daughters  value  the 
flag  and  hold  to  their  loyalty  and  love  of  liberty  as 
nobly  as  their  fathers  have  done.  Lincoln  has  freed  the 
slaves.  In  my  judgment  he  '11  live  to  regret  it,  but  he  's 
done  it.  Now,  when  Richmond  goes  down  —  only  a  few 
months  hence,  I  know  the  thing  is  done.  We  did  our 
best.  But  somehow  the  men  who  stayed  by  the  old 
flag  had  the  God  of  Battles  with  them,  and  you  can't 
batter  down  that  kind  of  a  wall." 

St.  Felix  paused  and  looked  at  Elliot. 
"  Rosalind  is  to  be  married  in  October  to  a  young 
surgeon  at  the  hospital.    He  just  suits  her.    He  is  steady 


490  AWALLOFMEN 

and  she  is  impulsive.  I'll  stay  near  them.  I  hope  I 
can  serve  my  country  in  its  reconstruction,  and  I  know 
the  mettle  and  power  of  the  West  and  North,  and  I  value 
them  as  few  Southern  men  can." 

"You  will  be  a  power,  doing  a  noble  work  wherever 
you  are,  Dr.  St.  Felix,"  Elliot  said.  "  When  I  think  of 
the  South,  I  shall  remember  you.  The  commander  of 
that  beastly  prison  will  come  to  an  infamous  end  soon 
enough,  and  history  cannot  heap  ignominy  high  enough 
upon  his  name,  nor  bury  him  too  deeply  in  oblivion.  He 
will  be  lost.  I'm  not  going  to  use  up  strength  hating 
him." 

"  That 's  Isabel  Darrow  speakin'  in  her  boy  now.  Lis 
ten  to  her,"  Coke  Wren  declared,  as  he  looked  admiringly 
at  Elliott. 

"By  the  way,"  St.  Felix  said,  at  last.  "Our  old 
acquaintance,  Colonel  Boniface  Penwin,  did  you  hear  of 
him?" 

"No,  we  missed  several  daily  papers,  owin'  to  high 
water  down  there,"  Coke  drawled  out,  slowly.  "What 
of  B.  Penwin?" 

St.  Felix  sighed.  "A  man's  sins  rest  at  last  on  his 
own  head.  Roxbury  pursued  him  to  the  last,  but  in 
the  end  he  took  his  own  life,  murdering  coward  that  he 
was!  The  last  name  on  his  lips  was  the  name  of  Neil 
Merriford.  A  man  needs  courage  to  face  the  enemies' 
guns,  but  it  takes  a  coward  to  face  his  own  gun.  He  was 
a  gentleman,  gone  wrong.  One  evil  passion  after 
another  he  let  master  him.  I  knew  him  when  he  owned 
himself.  A  charming  friend  he  was  and  a  good  citizen. 
But,  Elliot,  a  man  must  be  master  of  himself  to  be  a 
Man.  Then  he's  greater  than  he  that  taketh  a  city; 
greater  than  General  Grant  will  be  when  he  takes  Rich 
mond,  unless  he  can  also  take  and  hold  General  Grant." 


LOCKET     AND     CHAIN  491 

Out  in  the  Vinland  Valley  Patty  Wren's  "  queer  feel 
ing  in  the  top  of  her  head"  betokened  some  coming 
good.  With  no  more  reason  than  a  bird  could  give  for 
flying  northward,  she  flew  over  to  the  Darrow  home  one 
April  morning.  "I  couldn't  stay  away,  'cause  I  know 
they's  joy  in  the  air,"  she  explained  to  her  hostess. 

Isabel  Darrow's  face  wore  the  lines  the  sorrows  of 
war  had  carved  in,  and  the  silver  streakings  in  her  wavy 
hair  were  permanent.  No  mother  of  a  boy  in  Ander- 
sonville  prison  ever  grew  younger  in  face  and  heart. 
But  noble  living  brings  enduring  charm.  The  steadfast, 
intellectual,  God-fearing  life  of  this  Quaker  home  filled 
all  the  passing  years  with  beauty. 

"Yes,  Patty,  there  is  joy  on  earth.  Richmond  has 
fallen.  John  Speer  brought  the  word  to  Hiram  over  on 
the  other  farm  this  morning.  Coke  is  on  his  way  home, 
with  Jupe  to  care  for  him.  The  doctor  says  he  is  doing 
nicely." 

Patty  cooed  and  crowed  and  clucked  in  her  joy. 

"Colonel  Lamond  and  Major  Merriford  will  soon  be 
in  Kansas.  Joe  is  already  here,  but  Mark  will  be  sta 
tioned  in  Wyoming  for  awhile,"  Isabel  went  on. 

"That's  why  Lucy  Penwin's  goin'  West,  bless  her 
heart,"  Patty  cried.  "And  when's  the  doctor  to  get 
home  again?" 

Isabel  smiled.  "  Yes,  Lucy  is  going  West,"  she  said 
"  I  don't  know  when  Elliot  will  come  home." 

"I'll  bet  the  girl  they  call  'the  beauty  of  Kansas' 
knows,"  Patty  chuckled.  "This  queer  feelin'  in  the  top 
of  my  head  always  means  somethin'  good.  My!  but 
I'd  give  a  cat  to  see  Doctor  Darrow  walkin'  in  here. 
Lemme  know  when  you  hear." 

"  I  will  surely  do  that,  Patty,"  Isabel  assured  her. 

October  came  again  to  Kansas  with  all  the  beauty  of 


492  AWALLOFMEN 

autumn  skies  and  rainbow-tinted  prairies.  The  Vinland 
Valley  swam  in  the  heliotrope  haze.  The  Wakarusa 
went  on  its  winding  way  to  meet  the  Kaw.  The  woods 
along  the  shallow  draws  were  purple  and  scarlet.  The 
breeze,  exhilarating  as  wine,  swept  in  from  far  sunny 
plains.  The  old  Santa  Fe  Trail  was  yet  the  broad 
highway  for  the  feet  of  men  moving  Westward  to  a 
new  land,  a  wilderness  of  beauty  and  promise. 

Along  the  old  way  where,  in  the  times  gone  by,  the 
children  of  three  settlers'  families  had  gone  nutting  in 
happy,  care-free  days,  Dr.  Elliot  Darrow  and  Elizabeth 
Lamond  came  again  in  the  bloom  of  their  young  man 
hood  and  womanhood.  On  the  brow  of  the  bluff  above 
the  Vinland  Valley,  they  sat  down  and  looked  out  in 
silence  at  the  land  over  which  brooded  the  smile  of 
Omnipotent  Peace  and  Beneficence. 

Then  Elliot  spoke.  The  light  of  his  dark  eyes  was 
as  tender  as  of  old,  and  in  his  face  was  a  look  of  glad 
expectancy.  Beth's  dress  was  of  soft  gray-green  and 
dark  blue,  with  the  white  lines  threading  through  it,  the 
colors  her  father  loved.  Her  golden  hair  was  coiled 
about  her  head  like  a  coronet,  and  her  fair  face  wore  the 
strength  of  womanly  beauty. 

"  Our  ten  years  of  trouble.  Beth,  do  you  remember 
John  Brown's  promise?" 

"Yes,  Elliot.  The  prophecy  was  that  they  would 
come,  not  that  they  would  stay.  The  sorrowful  things 
of  life  do  not  endure.  It  is  the  joy  of  life  that  is 
imperishable." 

"How  long  does  a  Scotch  lassie's  strength  endure?" 
he  asked,  softly,  as  he  turned  toward  her. 

"So  long  as  a  Quaker's  patience  will  last,"  Beth 
mumured. 

Elliot  put  his  arms  about  her ;  her  golden  head  nestled 


LOCKET    AND     CHAIN  493 

against  his  shoulder,  and  all  the  troubles  of  the  ten  years 
fled  away. 

"I  have  a  locket  of  yours,  Beth.  I've  kept  it  in  this 
handkerchief  of  the  Lamond  plaid.  I  buried  it  in  a  lit 
tle  box  at  Andersonville  to  keep  it  clean.  I  knocked 
Boniface  Penwin  down  and  left  him  insensible  because 
he  tried  to  take  it  from  me  when  I  was  sent  to  prison. 
They  put  me  in  irons  a  day  and  night  for  it,  but  I  kept 
the  locket  and  the  silken  colors,  my  colors,  dearie." 

"  And  I  have  a  gold  chain,  Elliot.  Rosalind  sent  it  to 
me.  She  took  it  from  some  soldier  in  the  hospital.  I 
suppose  the  raider  who  took  it  from  me  died  there.  He 
was  the  same  man  whom  Craig  Penwin  drove  out  of  the 
ravine  during  the  Wakarusa  War.  Pelathe  told  me  all 
about  it.  You  may  put  the  locket  on  the  chain  now." 

And  because  Craig's  love  for  this  rare  woman  had 
been  a  sincere  one,  Elliot  never  explained  to  her  nor 
put  a  stain  upon  his  memory. 

Beth's  face  was  glorified  by  love's  dear  light,  as  Elliot 
fastened  the  locket  on  the  chain,  and  for  these  two  the 
way  of  life  opened  broadly  and  fair  toward  all  their 
years  of  nobleness  and  power. 


The  old  Trail  is  only  a  memory  now.  The  men  and 
women,  the  Empire  Builders,  who  half  a  century  ago 
founded  a  kingdom  on  Liberty  and  Loyalty  and  Love, 
and  defended  it  with  the  strength  of  their  brain  and 
brawn  and  heart  —  these  men  and  women  are  passing 
now,  or  have  gone  hence  to  an  inheritance  incorruptible 
and  undefiled  and  that  fadeth  not  away.  And  their 
children,  the  citizens  of  a  great  commonwealth,  still  tell 
their  children  of  their  own  young  years,  when  a  wall 
of  men,  for  the  love  of  freedom,  stood  round  about  the 


494  A    WALL     OF.  MEN 

young  pioneer  State  to  defend  it  from  its  foes.  And 
how  these  men,  trained  on  the  Western  prairies,  went 
forth  to  larger  fields  and  followed  the  old  flag  and  bat 
tled  for  it  and  with  their  brother  soldiers  saved  it  at  last 
for  themselves  and  their  nation  forever. 

And  the  third  generation,  the  children  of  these  pio 
neers'  children,  knowing  not  the  landmarks  of  the  old 
Trail,  wander  today  where  patriot  feet  have  stood  and 
martyr  blood  has  poured.  They  coast  down  the  Big 
Hill  of  the  old  sheltered  woodland  way  in  the  icy  winter 
weather,  and  linger  by  The  Hole  in  the  Rock,  and  gather 
in  the  halls  of  Baker  University.  They  look  out  in 
happy  carelessness  from  Mount  Oread's  height  still 
watching  over  Lawrence,  the  altar  of  a  State's  great 
sacrifice. 

For  these  younger  ones  dream  only  of  their  own  day's 
joy,  and  battle  with  their  own  life  problems.  In  the 
serenity  and  safety  of  a  blood-bought  land,  defended 
by  the  strength  of  those  who 

Came  to  rear  a  Wall  of  Men 
On  Freedom's  Southern  line, 

they  gather  in  the  rich  harvests  and  pluck  the  ripe  fruit 
whose  planting  and  pruning  care  was  given  to  the 
Empire  Builders  half  a  century  ago. 

THE  END. 


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